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A WEblEilN COW BUY 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 



THROUGH 



The Great Southwest 



For Home and School, and 
Upper Grades 



BY 

FELIX J. KOCH, A. B. 

(member AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY) 

Author of "A Little Journey to the Balkans," "Little 
Journey to Austro-Hungary," etc. 



CHICAGO 
A. FLANAGAN COMPANY 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Cootes Received 

!*!AY 24 I90r 

Cepyriirht Entry 

CLASS^/? XXC, No. 



Copyright, 1907 



A. FLANAGAN COMPANY 



^ 



A Little Journey Through the 
Southwest 



FROM NEW ORLEANS TO LOS ANGELES 

NOW that so many American boys and girls are 
yearning to make a trip across the length or 
breadth of their own country, due to a growing senti- 
ment among those who travel, which has for its motto, 
''See America First,'' the number of young people who 
would like first of all to see the great Southwest prob- 
ably equals that of those who would go first to 
New England, following our other Little Journey. 

Down in the Southwest, the Indian still lives, in 
places, in his primitive state. There, too, is the wily 
Mexican, or Spaniard, as he is called, and there, too, we 
shall find the Chinaman and the Jap, though these are 
more numerous in the extreme West. Then, too, all 
the wild life of the plains is to be seen on this Little 
Journey, and the very path of the railway is ever 
through scenes that teem with historical legend. 

Everything west of the Mississippi and south of a 
line drawn, say, east and west through San Francisco, 
may be termed the Southwest. 

quaint corners of new ORLEANS 

In ORDER that w^e may have some idea of the magni- 
tude of the distances in the Southwest and West, and 



4 A LITTLE JOrRNEY THROUGH 

also that we may appreciate the variety of Hfe and of 
culture in the region, we will do well to begin our Little 
Journey at New Orleans. And we should start on our 
trip as soon after the New Year as possible, thus 
receiving the benefit of the mild climate of that season. 
New Orleans is perhaps more familiar by name to us 



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CREOLE QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS 



than is any southern city. Being at the mouth of the 
Mississippi, according to the popular geographies, we 
have been accustomed to refer to it when tracing that 
stream on our maps. Then, too, with cotton and cane, 
the Louisiana Purchase, and a dozen similar, oft -men- 
tioned matters, old Orleans (''Or-luns," they say down 
there) has been brought to mind. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 5 

New Orleans is quite a city of conventions, and when 
the great cotton congresses of January meet, we had 
best prepare in advance and reserve our rooms. If 
not, we may have an opportunity to try some lodgings 
that are queer for an American city. Coming into the 
"Crescent City" at half -past ten, we will find all the 
large hotels crowded. Cabbies will drive us about from 
place to place, until finally, in disgust, we let the driver 
take us where he will. This means, perhaps, to seme 
ratty lodging-house, with mere thin partitions for 
walls, the furniture consisting, probably, of only a cheap 
iron bed and a basin. This will be just the first of the 
many queer places in which we are to lodge on our 
Little Journey. 

When morning comes we are only too ready to leave 
the place. So miserable was it, that we are surprised 
to find it is just round the corner from Canal St., 
one of the famous streets of the world. Canal St., in 
New Orleans, and Market St., in San Francisco, are 
among the famous thoroughfares we will have to visit. 

Already we seem f o feel we are in a different part of 
the country. 

CREOLE LAND AND THE FRENCH QUARTER 

Narrow little streets, their asphalt rotted by the per- 
petual damp which is the great menace of New Orleans, 
open off to right and left. Houses, all of which are old, 
fringe these, and add to the air of antiquity by pro- 
jecting balconies which adorn every one of them, 
often extending into iron galleries, such as we found in 
Bulgaria.* Many of these balconies have very orna- 

*aee "A Little Journey to the Balkans 



6 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

mental iron railings and on almost all of them there 
will be potted plants. Most of these balconies are held 
in position by iron bars placed along the curb, so that 
the sidewalks remain in perpetual shadow from the 
overhanging porch. 

We are here often reminded of old Paris, f for this is 
the famous French section of the city — tenanted even 
now by descendants of the old French and Spanish 
settlers. These people are usually very dark-skinned, 
so much so as to be mistaken frequently for colored 
people, and are known as Creoles (Kray-oU-s). They 
keep to themselves and, as we shall find, have little to 
do with strangers outside of purely business matters. 

In the dilapidated buildings of the French quarter, 
there are elegant modern stores. Flower-sellers fre- 
quently have places outside these, for the Latin 
peoples are very fond of flowers. Then, too, as we are 
in the proper season for the trip, i. e., early in January, 
we shall see many windows offering wares for the 
Mardi Gras, the great annual fete and masque of this 
city. 

Walking down Royal St., in the heart of the French 
quarter, we see everywhere scenes typical of Creole life 
and of the South. Negresses, in dirty white bandanas, 
folded as only a plantation darkey knows how to fold, 
stand about on the corners. Oysters are piled every- 
where in tall, tapering baskets, for no city in the world, 
not even Baltimore, is as fond of oysters as is New 
Orleans. We pass French ladies with their bonnets 
tied under the chin by heavy velvet bands in the old 
French fashion, or we may see a gentleman wdth a 

t"A Little Journey to France." 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 7 

mustache and imperial in the style of Napoleon III. 
Cafes, with restaurant and billiard apartments are here, 
and one enters them by way of a sort of lo]:)by, in which 
bootblacks are invariably stationed Inside, the men 
sit long over their coffee, reading the newspapers, as 
they do in the cafes of Europe. 

If we continue our ramble, we may chance on a pair 
of negro nuns, sisters of a local order, out upon an 
errand. Chestnut venders, too, will stop us, and ask 
us to buy from their polished urns. Fruit-stands 
are numerous, close up against the house walls, expos- 
ing strawberries, dates, oranges, apples, and pears, as 
well as grapes, pineapples, and bananas, on this balmy 
January day. 

On street-doors we note everywhere a card on which 
the words '^open^' or ^^shut" are printed. This is 
done because the office is frequently so far in the rear 
of the building, that one could not tell whether busi- 
ness were in progress or not. 

By and by we are among the antique shops for which 
New Orleans is famous. Shortly after the Civil War, 
when so many of the great Southern families found 
themselves impoverished, collectors went from plan- 
tation to plantation, buying up the heavy, antique 
furniture; the art treasures, many of which had come 
from France, and the like These command a good 
price Not all of them, however, found sale, and so 
have gone from cuno-dealer to curio-dealer, and then 
on to the antique shops which are veritable museums, 
especially of samples of artistic workmanship from 
France. 

To enumerate everything we see of interest in these 



8 A LITTLE JOlRNEi THROUGH 

shops would be impossible. Just a few of the most 
unique can be jotted down. A medallion in the 
form of a peacock, of solid gold; a genuine Rose du 
Barry vase, against the imitation of which Louis XV. 
issued a royal decree; queer watches, running twenty 
days at a winding; swords and muskets, and other 
family heirlooms are here. Especially noteworthy, 
however, is a watch given by Napoleon to Marshal Ney, 
and by him in turn willed to his son, Joseph, who 
brought it to New Orleans. This timepiece plays a 
French march every hour, and furthermore, on 
pressing a spring, the owner can have it strike the time 
in the dark. 

From the curio stores we will ramble down a quiet 
French lane of cobble-stones to the Chart res St. dis- 
trict, which is interesting for its innumerable bird and 
animal stores. Down on the great Southern planta- 
tions the ladies are exceptionally fond of pet birds, prin- 
cipally parrots, canaries or mocking-birds, and like- 
wise of pet dogs. So there is square on square of New 
Orleans given over to their sale. 

One of the attendants tells us some interesting things 
in regard to these. Parrots, for example, he says, are 
no longer caught in the Tropics for sale, but are hatched 
in captivity, as they then become better talkers. The 
wild birds, the parents of these, are usually satisfied 
with cage-life, only they will not talk. Hence, for the 
genuine Mexican bird, the prices are lower than for our 
American, home-bred species. In the New Orleans 
stores they do not try to teach the birds to speak, as 
this is next to impossible where there are so many 
about — but leave it to the buyer. They are, however. 



THE (HIEAT SOUTHWEST 9 

always certain as to the speech-capacity in a given 
bird, there being certain signs, understood only by the 
expert, to give this secret away. 

About canaries, too, we learn interesting facts. 
These birds are brought here from Germany, and come 
in great willow cages, a thousand birds to the lot. 
Think of the bottled-up concerts that such a piece of 
freight contains! 

As we go on through the heart of New Orleans, we 
will see other fads and fancies of the South. There 
will be hawkers of baby alligators, which are taken 
from the swamps in nets, being usvially found in litters 
of as many as twenty-five. These are sold as pets at 
fifty cents apiece. In the summer their owners feed 
them raw meat, once a week ; in the winter season they 
sleep, and need no nourishment. 

Then, too, we will perhaps purchase some of the little 
waxen ^lexican figures of New Orleans characters that 
are to be found in every Sovithern home. Nor are 
these cheap — not even a small specimen of a darkey 
cotton-picker is obtainable for less than a dollar. 

THE SPIRIT OF THE SOUTH 

We like to linger in New Orleans because we get here 
the spirit of the life of all that part of our great South- 
west and South lying east of the Pecos River. It is 
so different from what we shall find beyond that it 
repays us to study it carefully. 

Down among the French signs and the Creole shop- 
keepers, there is the old Hotel St. Louis, a four-story, 
dilapidated structure, the hiding-place of bats and 
thieves. When this place was built, in 1841, it was 



10 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

famous the world over, having cost over a milhon 
dollars. Here the mystic carnival balls were held, and 
here, too, in a gloomy corner, the stranger is still shown 
the block upon which slaves were sold — as Mrs. Stowe 
describes in ^^ Uncle Tom's Cabin.'' 

Almost across the way from here is a house built for 
the express purpose of becoming the American home 
of Napoleon. In 1821, we recall, a plot was formed by 
the French of this city to rescue the Emperor from St. 
Helena, and a fast schooner, the Seraphine (Say-rah- 
feen) was manned and set out. On reaching the mouth 
of the Mississippi, however, this steamer turned back, 
for an incoming ship brought the news of the Em- 
peror's death. Aside from the queer watch-tower and 
the arched arcades about the interior court, it is a 
commonplace building, housing to-day a grocery and 
saloon. 

It is but a short step now out of the French into the 
Spanish section of New Orleans, and the Cabildo (Ka- 
bill-dough) or main square. This is a great flat park 
of palms containing the statue of General Jackson on 
horseback, pict\ires of which one sees in all the school- 
books. On this plaza faces the deeply-colonnaded 
Cabildo building, where the formal transfer of the 
province of Louisiana from France to the United States 
occurred on December 20, 1803. In it the French and 
the Spanish governors had their seats and in the rear 
one still sees the site of the calaboose or prison into 
which heretics were thrust by order of the Spanish 
Inquisition. It is now a police station, and one of the 
cells contains a pair of stocks hewn from a solid cypress 
log, and fitted with holes for the ankles of the offender. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 11 

Next to the Cabildo is the Cathedral, its exterior 
coated with the famihar yellow concrete of the south. 
This is not durable, and hence has to be replaced 
frequently. Then on the right and left are long, three- 
story red brick buildings, a block in length, each one 
having its balconies. These, too, are interesting for 
their age, having been erected by the Baroness Pon- 
talba (Pon-tahl-bah), daughter of the Don Andrea 
Almonastrey Roxas, a well-to-do Spanish noble, and 
colonel of the provincial troops. It was the Don who 
built the cathedral, and gave it to the colony, and for 
whom, each evening, at vespers, the bells are tolled, 
and masses are said for his soul. 

There is no end to the interesting things in this section. 
Here is the French market, famous for the neatness 
with which every article of food is set before the buyer. 
Even the meat, for instance, is kept full of long iron 
skewers, which extend perhaps an inch below, so that 
it may rest on these, rather than on the clean marble 
stands. Pineapples are hung each from a cord, and 
soup vegetables are tied into ornamental bouquets as if 
for a vase, instead of the kitchen. Then, too, there are 
coffee stalls on the market, as in Paris, with great brass 
urns, and presided over by men in long blue sack-coats 
or blouses, such as we met with on our Little Journey 
TO France. 

Of course, we must linger at the river, the wide 
Mississippi, a muddy, turbid stream as we see it here, 
with the banks covered over with board-walk, on which 
stand bales of cotton without number. That, too, is a 
study for us, and if we have time we can saunter inland 
from the levee to the Cotton Exchange, where the 



12 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



brokers gather around a little fountain and raise or 
lower the price. Down here by the river, however, the 
lazy picturesque negroes driving the teams from their 



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f'Jitt 



ROLLING COTTON, NEW ORLEANS 



seats on the topmost bale, or bearing the cotton off the 
stern-wheelers, or, if they have a coin in hand, lounging 
on the levee in the sunshine, idle and happy, and care- 
less of prices or time, will interest us. In fact, if we are 
careful travelers, we shall return some other time and 
spend an afternoon simply taking in this life along the 
levee. We will go on to where the molasses ('lasses 
they say here) and the cane-sugar barrels are grouped 
by the thousands, while a great refinery belches out 
its smoke on the scene. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 13 

Then we will sit upon a barrel and gaze on that 
mighty river, far across which lies Algiers (Ahl-geers), 
a suburb of the Crescent City. Crescent City, indeed, 
as we see the river bending down and around on its 
way to the still distant Delta. 

It takes us back to the school-room, and in fancy we 
repeat to ourselves, ^'The Mississippi River rises in a 
little lake north of Lake Itasca (I-tas-ka).'' 

Then, before we get much farther, we are reminded 
of the story of the child who asked why, if the Missis- 
sippi was the ''Father of Waters,^' it was not called the 
Mister-sippi River. 

But much as we should like to stay, there is not more 
time for day dreaming. We will pass the lugger, or 
small boat landing, where oysters are being brought in, 
in the tall tapering baskets, and then have our walk 
include the French Opera House, in order to see by day 
the famous old l:)uilding where the Mardi Gras balls are 
held ; and then proceed to old Congo Square, where, in 
the days before the war, the negro slaves danced 
''voo-doo'' (vu-duh), under Bras Coupe (Brahs Coop-a), 
the black king and the captain of the swamp-hidden 
runaways. 

We are back in fancy in ^' Uncle Tom^s Cabin" or 
with ''Daddy Jake, the Runaway" or any of the 
other delightful Stowe or Chandler Harris stories, as we 
stand on this square. 

Voo-doo ! that, in itself, is full or interest ; its legends 
are numerous, even now the darkies all around will tell 
them— how if you dance so many rounds this way, you 
will be immune from the yellow fever, of which New 
Orleans is always in dread; or, if you dance and then 



14 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



tap this or that, you cannot get the cholera. Voo-doo, 
in short, is a sort of supernatural way of guarding 
against the familiar diseases of the South, by doing 
queer penances or by contortions of the body. 

And the old swamp kings — anyone here can tell you 
of them. When a slave ran away from his maste"= 
rather than be sold ^^down river,'' to New Orleans, he 
would make for the swamps we will see later in t' 
week. There he wandered until he met some othe 
runaway, when the two joined forces and went on ti 




A TYPICAL BAYOU 



they met a third. So bands were formed, often for 
protection, some to keep watch against pursuit, while 
certain members slept, some to do the foraging, and 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 15 

the like. Each swamp-band had its leader, known as 
the king, and the experiences of some of these read like 
the wildest fiction. 

An electric car comes along, and we step aboard. In 
the north we would perhaps take the last seat, if this 
vere vacant, that we might get out more easily on 
reaching our destination. Here, however, attached to 
'he backs of these last few seats on either side of the 
a'isle, we see a small, oblong wire screen, upon which 
We the words : '^For Colored Patrons Only.'^ 

This, more than anything we have yet seen, makes us 
reahze that we are still in the South. Although the 
war is at an end, and although the Constitution has 
declared otherwise, we note ever^^where that the black 
man is not treated on terms of equality with the whit^. 
He is not even spoken of as colored, but the term 
^'niggah^' is used at all times, even in his presence. So 
here in the cars — the law prescribing that the colored 
people be granted equal rights with the whites is 
evaded by saying that if a white man sat in these 
colored folks' seats he would be ushered out, 
hence no colored man can sit in the seats for the 
whites. 

Barber shops down here, we notice from the cars, not 
being satisfied with the usual pole, have the entire 
front painted in red and white striping. 

As it is lunch-time, we will return to a famous little 
restaurant in the French quarter which has been one 
of the institutions of New Orleans almost since the war, 
because of its excellent cooking. Here they call the 
meal breakfast, though we sit down to it at half -past 
eleven. The courses are served in regular order, nor 



16 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

will they hurry, and no person can finish his meal before 
the rest. 

There is a bottle of wine for each place, French 
fashion, and a thick — ^very thick — slice of bread. 
Then the meal itself begins. First there are crawfish, 
which some of us may have to be shown how to eat — 
simply by breaking them open and sucking out the 
tail. Then omelet, with parsley, steaming hot, and full 
of a queer black spice, imported from Paris. Celery 
and radishes are passed about, and after them there is 
brought in a curious dish which we all fail to recognize. 
Some guess it is tripe, others snails — as a matter of fact, 
the latter are right. Meantime the old Frenchman 
and his wife have started conversation. They like the 
cooking to be praised and we humor them in this 
respect. Before long, fried chicken and boiled potatoes 
are before us. After that half a tomato, with parsle}^ 
on top, also steaming hot, and a piece of beef-steak, 
hidden beneath cress. We are wondering what the 
wind-up will consist of. It is Roquefort or Swiss 
cheese, and apples. Then black coffee, into which 
brandy is poured, and then lit, so that we can drink it 
well-nigh burning. 

It is now time to take to the carriage which a friend 
in the city has prepared for us. From the garden, a 
bouquet of roses and violets has been brought ; this 
although we are still in early January and at home it is 
very cold. 

We will drive along the famous St. Charles Ave. to 
the outskirts, so as to see the handsome southern 
homes, far back in their gardens, and often well-nigh 
hidden from view by tall palms and oak trees. Be- 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 17 

tween the walks and the street there are rows of palms, 
which remind us of Ragusa in Dalmatia.* 

Here and there among these places, there will be a 
fashionable cafe, as in Europe, where ladies may drop 
in of an afternoon, for a cup of Mocha and cakes. 




A NEW ORLEANS CEMETERY 



Most of these cafes sell novelties, too, and among 
them such things as dressed fleas — tiny specimens of 
these insects, which are perfectly attired as man and 
wife. 

By and by we are out among the cemeteries of New 
Orleans, as curious as any in the world. As we shall 
find at San Francisco, all of these' cemeteries are 



♦See ' A Littlo Joiinu-y to tlu^ Halkai 



18 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

grouped about a central area, but unlike those of the 
Doomed City, the dead here repose in vaults. Usually 
a vault is built to contain four bodies, and their names 
will be set on the slab on the front. When, then, the 
fifth person in a family dies, the vault is opened and 
the remains of some one of the other four gathered 
together into a new smaller coffin, or simply into a pine 
box and placed in the receptacle, as it is called. This 
receptacle is simply an ordinary cemented cellar at the 
base of the vault, in which the remains gradually 
moulder away. Sometimes, instead, the remains of, 
say the fourth person, will be put in a smaller casket, 
and room found for this in the vault itself. The cere- 
mony reminds us somewhat of Pere la Chaise, in Paris, 
visited on our other Little Journey. 

Some of the vaults here are very beautiful, the long 
shelves extending along their fronts being adorned 
with vases and urns filled with flowers. A vault we 
shall be particularly interested in is one built into a 
grass-covered mound, and topped by a great column, 
for there, among others, lies entombed Jefferson Davis, 
the President of the Confederacy. A simple slab of 
slate, cut with his name and dates of birth and death, 
distinguishes this entombment from the rest in the 
catacomb. 

We have now seen what is quaint and curious of New 
Orleans. It will not do, however, to neglect the life of 
the city to-day. Consequently, we shall continue our 
way ^^up-town," as the residential section is termed, 
toward Rosa Park and the other suburban districts. 
We note here that the pronunciation is typically 
southern — ''park'^ becomes ''p-aa-h-k." The park. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 19 

like so many in the city, consists of an oval of palms 
and shrubbery which is kept in order by the residents 
on either side. Out here one finds still in vogue the 
colonial style of Southern home, and if the evening be 
a bit chilly, there are logs in the great fire-places, before 
which the children gather with their darkey ^'mam- 
mies'' (or nurses), to pop corn and listen to the folk- 
lore of the cotton field and the cane brake. 

Some of these little ones' rooms in the homes are 
exceedingly pretty, one in particular into which we 
may peep, having the walls covered with a paper 
reproclucing Delft designs and colorings and being 
filled with nick-nacks of all sorts, in Dutch style, 
with a border of dollies on a shelf, each doll dressed 
in correct Dutch costume. 

In the evening we attend the French opera (if we 
understand the language) and enjoy one of the finest 
performances of opera it has ever been our good fortune 
to witness. We note quite a number of European 
customs here, among others the three knocks by the 
stage-manager behind the scenes when the curtain is 
to rise, and the stamping of feet by the most refined in 
the audience, if the intermissions are prolonged too 
greatly. 

After the theater everyone goes to the restaurants 
for a queer combination — beer and oysters on the 
shell, or else fried oysters. There is no end to the con- 
sumption of these bivalves in old Orleans. 

FAREWELL TO NEW ORLEANS 

Before quitting New Orleans next morning, we must 
take a peep at the lobby of the St. Charles Hotel, one of 



20 A LITTLE JOURXEY THROUGH 

the famous hostelries of the South, if only to study the 
^'hfe" that gathers here. 

Then, threading our way toward the station, we step 
into the post-office to mail a letter. We find that the 
drops for mail are arranged by states, and thus we do 
the sorting ourselves and save the clerks their greatest 
trouble. Outside a milk-cart rattles b}', a queer two- 
wheeled cart shaped like a buggy, with tin cans so 
bright as to look like silver. We snapshot this and 
then proceed. 

We are now bound on a very long journey, to El 
Paso in fact, but the nature of the territory to be tra- 
versed is such that we can see it as well from the train 
as we could by getting off at intervals. 

We must, however, avail ourselves of the benefits of 
the observation car, and to do this we secure berths for 
our sleeper at once. At the very beginning of the 
journey we are made to realize that distances down in 
the Southwest are tremendous, for the fare on this, 
our first jump, from New Orleans to El Paso, is about 
thirty-three dollars, with seven dollars additional for 
the sleeper. Our study of the map would hardly pre- 
pare us for this. 

We are lucky in happening to meet some acquaint- 
ances, bound for Los Angeles, and the winter resorts of 
the coast, and while the train draws out through the 
famous swamps, now filled with fluffy grasses, and the 
grain flats, wdth their curious cribs, we renew past 
friendships and hear news of mutual acquaintances. 

Already we are among the sluggish ba3^ous (buy- 
yews) of Louisiana, of which we have heard so much. 
Deep, dark creeks wind quietly through these swamps^ 



THE GREAT SOI'THWEST 21 

and there are flag or reed-covered savannas, with 
Uchened timber marking water courses on which 
the canoe alone can pass. This is the famous sugar 
region of Louisiana, the Teche (Tesh), as it is called. 




CROSSING THE MISSISSIPPI 



In addition to the sugar-cane, the low-lands afford 
much valuable timber. It is a paradise for the canoeist . 
In times of high water, moreover, much of this region 
is covered by the river, and snakes and alligators rest 
on the trees as in familiar pictures of Old Earth after 
the Deluge. 



22 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

Before reaching the heart of the Teche country, 
however, we are to cross the Mississippi. 

CROSSING THE LARGEST RIVER IN THE WORLD 

We avonder how we are going to do it. Before we 
know it, the train has run onto a boat fitted with three 
tracks, on each of which some of the cars of our train 
are switched. Then we are ferried across. Possibly 
some of us will be glad of the chance to climb up into 
the cab of our engine, one of the famous Great Mogul 
type, and pretend we are the engineer, directing the 
expedition westward. Above us is the bridge, with 
the ferry operators, all about only the muddy water, 
and beyond, again, the great crescent that marks the 
city. We feel a slight shaking under foot as we walk 
around the boat, otherwise we might not know we were 
moving. In fact, when we take our seats in the dirting- 
car, before the other bank is reached, we shall be 
wholly unconscious of all motion. 

A contrast to the olden days 

After luncheon we return to the observation car, pre- 
pared to see the country. We cannot but recall the 
difference between this mode of going west, and that 
in which our forefathers traveled, going either by boat, 
on the long, weary trip around the Horn, or by vessel 
to Panama, and then with mules over the Isthmus and 
again by sail to the North. Still greater, even, is the 
contrast with those who ''trekked'' it across the plains 
or desert in the great prairie schooners of which we shall 
soon hear so much. 

Here the car has a single, long aisle down one side. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 23' 

Off from this is a compartment with tables and chairs, 
reserved for gentlemen desiring to smoke, and another 
compartment entirely of glass, in which there are cosy 
reclining chairs, writing desk and a mail-box that is 
emptied regularly. At the end of all is the bread 
platform, with camp-stools, on which we take our 
place, this to the irritation of a young bridal couple — 
like so many others, on a bridal-tour to the west — who 
had hoped to be alone. 

We are by this time again in the heart of the bayous, 
and ever}^vhere rise levees (lay-vees), or embankments 
built on the edge of stream.s, much as they do in Hol- 
land.* Contrary to our ideas of the green and sunny 
South, the dense, heavily lichened trees are now bare 
of foliage, sugar-cane plantations, with the stalks all 
down, but the yellow leaves, like those of sugar-corn, 
lying in the furrows, ready to be raked together ; dense 
cypress glades, and rushes, seem to make up this land. 

By and by we stop at Bowie (Boo-e), a village of 
one-room, whitewashed frame huts, all set, as is the 
fashion here, along one main street ; and on that street 
the mules and the negroes are about equally numerous. 
Some of our friends step off the car to get pieces of the 
sugar-cane lying about in profusion. This is quickly 
peeled with the pen-knife, and then broken up to dis- 
tribute among the crowd. 

IN THE LAND OF THE SUGAR-CANE 

They tell us to eat it - "it is good !" We try to bite 
the cane across, but it is so tough that this is impossible. 
Then we bite in laterally, and it yields. We find the 

*See "A Little Journey to the Netherlands." 



24 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

cane quite sweet to chew — very like sweet gum. 
What remains in the mouth after the saccharine is 
extracted, we toss away to replace with a fresh supply. 
Like ourselves, many of the tourists on board have 
never eaten cane before, so the Southerners dilate on 
its virtues. Nothing, they say, equals this red-coated, 
white- bodied rod of cane for making the eater fat and 
healthy. That is why the negroes we see cutting the 
stalks into dark-red poles, that litter the otherwise 
barren ground, are one and all healthy. 

As the bayous grow denser, we find more and more, 
that our school geography has misinformed us about 
the ''winter" of the South. While the temperature 
is mild and warm, the trees and shrubs are just as 
barren and ''dead'' here as they are at home in winter; 
flowers and foliage are nowhere visible. The shrubs 
that border the railway and the dense, thin-trunked 
trees behind them, are without vestige of leaf. The 
long, dangling tree-moss is their only clothing. 

IN THE ACADIAN LAND 

Someone in the car has brought out a copy of 
Longfellow and begins reading "Evangeline.'' Cer- 
tainly this is appropriate, for we, too, are now "In 
the Acadian-land, not far from the Basin of Minas" 
(My-nass). 

These swamps, a guide book tells us, were in fact 
the haunts of Felix Roux (Roo), the great Acadian 
hunter. While we were at luncheon, too, we are told 
we passed through the Bayou des Allemands (Ahl- 
maung), a little town of whitewashed houses too 
tiny to be noticed en passant — to which John Law, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWE8T 25 

of ' 'Mississippi Bubble" fame, sent the Chevalier 
d'Arenmy, aid-de-camp of King Charles of Sweden, 
with two hundred and thirty families of colonists. 
When Law failed and fled from Paris to Venice, the 
emigrants became discouraged and prepared to return 
home. Bienville, however, induced them finally to 
stay, and gave to each a tract of land in this region 
which was known as the Cote (Kote) or Shore des 
Allemands (days AhF maung). Even now de- 
scendants of the Chevalier reside there. 

One thing we already realize, and that is, that 
this trip will make us revive forgotten history, and 
wish, just a little, that we had studied a bit harder 
at school. 

We hear again and again, for example, the terms 
''New Families" and "Old Families," especially as ap- 
plied to the fertile sugar plantations here among the 
marshes, where the land is subject to tidal overflows, 
and where the bayous and arms of the sea form natural 
boundaries. These plantations are now owned by the 
"New" families, who are in many cases descendants 
of the "carpet-baggers," who came into the South 
just after the Civil War, when her people were pros- 
trated by their defeat and their consequent financial 
losses. By dint of hard labor these "New Families" 
have won for themselves great fortunes. The "Old 
Families" were the great land-holders of the days before 
the war. 

Fellow travelers, of varied inclinations, find varied 
interest in the ride. Some speak of the fine fishing — 
for all the gulf fish are here — others of the game — 
bear and deer, ducks and geese ; others of the cattle. 



26 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

A Kansas man aboard bought a million acres, he tells^ 
for a winter cattle range. Another man draws our 
attention to the fact that the oyster and terrapin 
industry flourishes here, because of the richness of 
the soil, which is made up of the decomposed shells 
of marine animals and of salt overflows of the Gulf, 
all of which are washed back into the ba3^ous. 

Where the moss hangs longest and deepest from 
the trees the ground is covered with low, beautiful fan 
palms, which stand out a mass of bright green, brilliant 
in contrast to the other duller herbage, and to the 
water, which reflects them on a back-ground of bar- 
ren, naked trees. Now and then, where there may be 
a curve in the track, we will see a terrapin on a log. 

Then all is monotonous. 

IN THE BAYOU COUNTRY 

This part of the Southwest strikes us as remark- 
able for the sparsity of its population. Now and then 
a village, such as Gibson, appears, of frame houses 
with a sawmill built on an Indian mound; otherwise 
the clearings in the bayous are untenanted. 

It is so mild and spring-like in the open air that 
we enjoy the ride immensely. Passing over a prairie 
that stretches into the distant pine forests, at the 
western edge of Louisiana, the sugar cane begins to 
be replaced by cotton plantations. Everywhere on 
these we see the cotton stalks — the branches at this 
season bare and black, but bearing here and there an 
occasional white, unpicked boll. Rice fields, too, 
appear, but we are surprised to find side by side with 
these semi-tropical plants, oats, beans and potatoes, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 27 

which are raised in large quantities. Thousands of 
settlers from the north, we are told, come down here, 
and by hard work get splendid crops from the swamp- 
land, where it seems to us as if only these great, green 
palms, and a red-berried shrub, and the moss that 
hangs here from every tree-stump, can find root in 
the stagnant water. Looking carefully, we will see 
a very crude hut here and there in the bayovi, a mere 
frame of logs with a roof extending out from one side. 
It reminds us again of the huts of runaway slaves 
off in the dismal swamp. The logs lying scattered 
in the water often deceive pedestrians expecting safe 
foothold. 

The dreary light that falls on the stumps in these 
bayous becomes at last rather depressing and we are 
glad when drier rice fields follow. At Boeuf (Bohf), 
where there is a brief stoppage, we see the typical homes 
of the nearer Southwest; white frame huts, generally 
scattered and occupied, for the most part, b}^ negroes. 
Between the houses will be meadows of the low green 
fan-palms, and in these innumerable ponies graze. 
As is this town so are many others to follow, with 
the bayou coming so close up to the settlement that 
the orioles' nests in the trees overhang the houses, 
and the negresses, sitting ever idle on their little 
porches, with sunbonnets at all times on their heads, 
can look out into the depths of the swamps. The 
laziness of these darkies astounds us, for not even on 
the finest days do we find them stirring or doing more 
than they absolutely must about their homes. Oc- 
casionally we see in these towns a larger two-story 
house — for the plantation owner — or a cemetery with 



28 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

white fences surrounding the head-stone and foot- 
stone at each grave, is added to the prospect. 

A Uttle after three we arrive at Morgan City, a happy 
rehef, with its neat frame houses in well kept gardens, 
enclosed by equally well kept fences. Electric lights 
on the streets and trees along the walks make the place 
seem quite metropohtan. Here, as at all other stop- 
ping places, great crowds of people, negroes, ''poor 
whites" and others, are at hand to watch the ''train 
go by,'' an event which they would not miss for a 
good deal. 

While the train crosses the great brown Teche, 
halting in midstream over some stern-wheelers about 
to descend the river, one of our friends stops his smok- 
ing for a minute, to point out the guns on the old fort, 
where the Confederate veterans saluted the American 
flag, July 4, 1893. Thirty years before some three 
thousand rebels, stationed here, were routed, the Fed- 
erals taking the place and holding it until the close of 
the war, when it went to decay. Now it has been 
converted into a park. 

The boats on the river interest us; we learn how 
they are sent far up the Teche for rice and sugar and 
cotton, which they bring down to the railway, return- 
ing with supphes for the plantations above. The river 
itself is the Atchafalaya (At-sha-fah-lay-yah) so 
wide here that it is sometimes called Berwick Bay 
(Burr-wick). Nine miles above the Teche empties 
into it, the waters flowing together for some thirty 
miles into the Mexican Gulf. 

Over on the other side of the river is a fleeting pic- 
ture of the quaint old South. 



THE GREAT SOl'THWEST 29 

THE LAND OF THE PICCANINNY 

Negro cabins are built in one long row, and the old 
darkey mammies, with bandanas round their heads, 
a white kerchief folded in a 'T" on the back, blue 
waist, and skirt of black and white check, are seated 
on every step. Younger men and women lean on the 
fence posts before the unpainted cabins, watching the 
passing cars. Children — darling piccaninnies — toddle 
among the pink roses in the ''yards." The chmate 
here is as in the early spring at home, so that the amount 
of clothing worn is often the least that the law allows, 
frequently only a shirt minus sleeves. 

Tramps, carrying their bundles on the end of a cane 
on the shoulder, are also frequently seen at the road- 
side. 

As we ride on, we find ourselves listening to a 
heavy-set Southern planter giving a planter's account 
of life in the region. 

'Tn the summer,'' he is telling, ''the cane cutters 
here receive from eighty to ninety cents a day, accord- 
ing to strength, and this holds true for men, 
women and children. As to their capacity for work, 
the overseers get to be expert judges of this. In 
the summer, quite frequently, on the other hand, the 
cane-workers are paid a dollar and a quarter a day, 
and then we board them for twenty-five cents. Usually 
these cutters come to love the overseer, as they might 
an elder brother. When they disUke him, however, 
in a body, they will refuse to work." 

''No," in answer to a question, "the Southerner 
hasn't come to have quite the regard for the ])laok 



30 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

man which you have in the North. I am sorry to 
say that throughout this part of the country you will 
still have many whites tell you that the negro must 
be regarded as an animal, and not as a human, and 
that you must keep him in his place or you will regret it.'^ 

This is quite different from what we were led to be- 
lieve when we read our papers and magazines up North ! 

A long oil train cuts off his remarks, but when we 
next hear him he is telling how the cities are spoiling 
the colored man for work on the plantations, as the 
labor is lighter and the pay better; for on the cane- 
fields they must work from sun-up to sunset, except- 
ing for an hour at noon. 

He is recommending that as it is clouding up and 
may rain, and then we would not see the state at its 
best, we get off at the next stopping place and visit 
Fairview or Avoca (A-voke-ah), two of the typical 
plantations of the South, all of which, like these two, 
have fanciful, poetic names. 

THE REGION OF CANOES 

We look in vain for roads in this part of the country. 
There are none, as we understand the term, for the 
roads here are in reality waterways, intricate bayous, 
and deep, navigable streams, the way through which, 
as through the canals of lower California we are to visit 
later, it takes years to learn. Through these bayous go 
the oyster gatherers, for the vast shell beds are near 
here, and millions of oysters are shipped from the local 
packing establishments annually. In fact, from the 
cars, we can see some of the luggers tied to the banks, 
each sloop bringing a hundred and twenty-five to 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 31 

two hundred barrels from the great beds in the Gulf 
(a distance of perhaps an hour or two), netting the 
skipper a set rate of a dollar a barrel. We had never 
thought of the oyster as an important article of food 
until we came here to Louisiana, but in this section 
of the state a hardy set of men are engaged in the 
hazardous and certainly arduous work of gathering 
them the greater part of the year. 

From Girard Lake (Gee-rard) near by, catfish are 
also taken for shipment. Where to? We study our 
geograph3^ What sections of the country would be 
supplied from here? Obviously Texas, Kansas, Mis- 
souri, Louisiana, and Arkansas. If we cared to make 
the thirty-mile side trip to the lake, we would see 
fishermen everywhere hauhng in their lines, while the 
tugs of the dealers came about collecting the fish in 
floating crates and towing them to the shore, where 
expert dressers prepare the fish at the rate of one a 
minute. In fact we learn that a darkey expert can 
take a twenty-pound catfish, swing it upon a hook, 
take off the fins, slip the skin off in one pull, then 
disembowel the fish^and have head and tail chopped 
off before sixty seconds are counted. 

Alligator hides are another queer product that came 
formerly from this part of Louisiana — as many as 
thirty thousand hides going out of here at a shipment. 
Latterly, however, the supply has been exhausted and 
luckily, the demand is not so great. 

THE SUGARBOWL OF LOUISIANA 

We are beginning really to wonder if there is no 
end to cane plantations in Louisiana. The long, 



32 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

yellow leaves cover the ground for mile after mile, 
save where they have been gathered into great stacks, 
ready for sale to the paper factories, or where they 
have been burnt, that the rich soil might be plowed 
into furrows. Aside from a lumber mill or two, 
sugar-cane is everywhere ! No wonder they call this 
the Sugarbowl of the state. 

Still, there are other industries. One man 
made a fortune out here, for instance, by taking 
cypress land, cutting the timber, and then sending 
boats into the swamps to bring it out (by snaking, 
as it called) to where larger boats can collect it. 

At Patterson we are only eight feet above the 
sea, and out of the flats in the distance rise French 
church spires, that again take us back in fancy to 
Normandy. Manors and negro cabins, great sugar 
mills and perhaps a wooden bridge swung by hand 
to let a lugger sail by, alone would greet our 
eye, could we visit these towns. 

The bearded cypresses have again begun to replace 
the palms and the reeds when we reach the New 
Iberia district. Here in early days there were 
other industries, connected with the salt mines. 
Salt was then rare in the United States, so that, 
when worked by slaves, as they were up to 1828, 
the mines yielded handsome profits. After that, 
however, they were abandoned until 1861, when 
the price of salt rose to eleven dollars a barrel in New 
Orleans, and they could be profitably revived. Then 
a great vein of rock salt was discovered right here in 
the Sugarbowl of Louisiana, and this, too, was drained. 
The owner received for its produce not less than three 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 33 

million dollars, but as all this was in Confederate paper 
money, at the close of the war he found himself pen- 
niless. 

^'Away oui here, m far western Louisiana/' our 
friend again informs us, ''many of these plantations, 
like the manors of old, are almost independent of the 
world. They raise their own sugar and cotton, their 
own fruits, grains, vegetables, beef and mutton. On 
them you can kill bear and deer; there are fish and 
wild duck, geese and snipe. In fact, with but few ex- 
ceptions, they raise absolutely everything needed to 
sustain life." 

Just beyond another leafless cotton-field we stop at a 
little station. Some very black and some very light 
negro boys come down to sell us cane — at any price. 
Instead of buying, we toss them pennies — just as 
we did on the dock at Naples in our other Little 
Journey*, in order to enjoy the fun of watching them 
scramble, one over the other, for them. There is a 
settlement close by. New Iberia itself, where some 
young negresses, in gay blue and red dresses, are out 
among the trees before elegant old pillared and im- 
maculately white Southern homes, watching the passing 
train. 

With evening, a delightful balmy sunset breeze 
comes up, though it is not quite a quarter to five. On 
the observation platform, to vary the monotony of the 
endless sugar-cane, people are chatting or playing at 
cards. There is nothing but cane until La Fayette 
(French pronunciation) which we reach with the sunset 
half an hour later, so we enjoy ourselves in the same way. 

♦"See A Little Journej' to the Balkans." 



34 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

In the dusk, a great oil-train rolls by, and we notice 
for the first time, that our own track has been oiled, in 
order to lay the dust. 

With the deepening dusk, it grows cool outside, and 
all come into the car. We copy the notes we may have 
taken so far, and then set about '^exploring '' We note, 
for example, that daily telegraphic stock reports are 
posted at the door-way. We hear a friend ordering a 
glass of wine of the porter, and learn in surprise that it 
is unobtainable, this being Sunday, and we are in a 
State where the Sunday closing law obtains. It seems 
rather strange that laws of this sort should be applied to 
a train — we are unused to such practices 

Twilight finds us at Ocott (Oh-kott), another wee 
hamlet, with the cotton bales in a great pile on the 
platform. We wonder how far we shall get by bed- 
time. La Fayette the maps show to be one hundred 
and forty-five miles from New Orleans. Already the 
newsboy is coming through with Galveston (Gal-ves'- 
tun) and Houston papers. Houston (Hoos'-tun), we 
find, is three hundred and sixty-three miles from the 
Crescent City. 

The first of the three calls for supper in the dining 
car is given, and we start thither in order to make sure 
of a place. Our vis-a-vis at table is a young Creole 
attorney from New Orleans, and at the rate of half a 
mile a minute or so, he tells us of the Creole ways — 
how the enclosed garden is still attached to every 
Creole home, although the younger generation is 
dropping more exclusive customs and such like. 

By the time the waiter has pocketed our tip, and we 
are back in our Pullman, night is fairly on. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 35 

For our after-supper chat we seek the observation 
platform, while some of our friends remain to play 
cards within. It is bed-time when we stop at Beau- 
mont (Boh'-mond) — to our surprise well within the 
Lone Star State. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE LONE STAR STATE 

We sleep through quite a large portion of the largest 
state in the Union — Texas. 

How many of us have any real idea of the size of this 
''Lone Star State"? Probably very few. 

In the morning, on picking up one of the railway pub- 
lications, we find the facts stated quite concisely. 

''Texas/' says the book, "extends eight hundred 
miles from east to west, and seven hundred and fift}^ 
from north to south. This is almost the distance from 
New York to Chicago on the one hand, and from 
Chicago to New Orleans on the other, or say from San 
Francisco to Salt Lake. 

"Texas, moreover, is eleven times as large as New 
York State, two hundred and eleven times as big as 
Rhode Island. It has four hundred and eleven, miles 
of coast line, although we are little accustomed to 
speaking of the coast of Texas. Its navigable rivers 
are equal, in length, to those of any five other states 
in the Union. All in all, there are 265,789 square 
miles of territory in Texas, over which there extends 
some nine thousand five hundred miles of railway. 
The value of agricultural and manufactured products 
from this state is set at $185,000,000. The permanent 
school fund, in itself, is a hundred million dollars. 

"In addition to the hes\ known products, Texas 



36 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THEOUGH 



yields coal, iron, copper and gypsum, rock salt, and 
asphalt, mica, granite and petroleum; and its forests 
are far from inconsiderable.'' 

During the night, we learn that we passed Sour Lake, 
a queer pool, famous for its mud baths, and the many 







1 






1 






■ ■ ^^_ 






bifcrf 


IBsSx 




r 


'"'^"^^^m^m,^^^^^^ ^H 




i. 


J 





A TOWN IN WKr^lEUN TEXAS 



thriving towns dotting the section between the Sabine 
(Say'-bean) and San Antonio, towns separated from 
one another almost entirely by rice fields. Near 
CVosby, eighty-four miles from the Louisiana line, 
we crossed a historic site, the scene of the San Jacinto 
(Ja-sin^-toe) fight, April 12, 1836, which, practically 
speaking, gained for Texas her independence. 

Houston, the State capital, too, w^as passed, and now 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 37 

that we are up and out of our berths, we are pulhng 
into San Antonio (Sahn An-ton'-e-oh). 

It is a wet, foggy day, though very warm, and we are 
loth to quit the cozy dining-car, with its steaming 
coffee and rolls, for the murky outer world, but it will 
never do to miss the opportunity of a peep at San 
Antonio. 

QUEE'R CORNERS OF SAN ANTONIO 

With some fellow-travelers from Illinois, who, like 
us, are fond of exploring, we step off the train, they 
discussing the night's run from Beaumont (Boh^-mont), 
278 miles from New Orleans, via Houston (363), to 
San Antonio, 572 miles from the Crescent City. 

Meanwhile we are walking up the wide main street 
of San Antonio, our first typical Texan town. The 
houses all strike us as being occupied by the poorer 
class, and their architectural style is decidedly mixed. 
The stores are' to be described as wholly unimpressive. 
One thing only about them seems worthy of remark — 
the signs — as, for example, on a drug-store nearby, 
''Apotheke-Drug Store-Botica." There are ]\Iexicans 
and Germans, in large numbers, in San Antonio, so 
the sign-makers prepare accordingly. 

A street car comes along and we hail it to save time. 
First, however, we buy some fruit — apples, oranges and 
bananas, more than we can eat, for only fifteen cents. 
While on the car, we write a few souvenir post cards, 
for even in the smallest towns in the Southwest and 
West the post card fad has arrived, and it is almost as 
bad here as in Europe. '=' 

■•See "Little Journey to Austria-Hungary." 



38 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



Of course we want to see the Alamo (Ah-lah-moh), 
about which half the history of Texas is gathered. It 
is built in what seems to us the mission style — silent 
and suffering from age — a reminder of the stirring 
days when ''Remember the Alamo" was the watch- 
word of the West. 



ox AGAIN INTO THE CATTLE-LANDS 

We must now retrace our steps, for the train, like 
time, waits for no man. 

We pass at first into groves of low shrubs, barren at 




THE STAGE THAT MEETS THE TRAIN 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 39 

this season save for tremendous bunches of the green- 
leafed mistletoe, hanging like hornets^ nests from their 
limbs. Undoubtedly, we think, this is the region of 
the ''Texas forests" of which we have heard. Very 
soon, however, we shall discover our mistake. 

At a little wayside station there are huge stock- 
3^ards that seem to us a miniature of Chicago's Packing- 
town. In the vast prairie meadows, there are thous- 
ands of cattle — ' 'bunched,'' as they say out here — 
ready to be shipped, for we are entering the cattle 
country. 

We are coming to the land of the cow-boy, and we 
thrill with excitement at the news. We try to count 
the cattle. Strange to say it is easier than we suppose. 
Pretty soon the cattle become less numerous. We 
question another fellow-traveler out on the observa- 
tion platform. 

'^ Aren't these the ranches of Texas?" 

'Those? Ranches?" 

He laughs. 

"No, indeed, those are ranges! Don't you see, there 
are thousands and thousands of acres in the plots." 

Then he goes on to explain. Out in the East and 
Middle West, we always think of ranches as places 
where cattle alone are raised, and then by the 
thousands. In the Southwest, however, the word 
"ranch" simply means a small farm, and so there are 
vegetable ranches, and bee-ranches and goat-ranches 
and apple-ranches and any other ranch you may 
desire. But the cattle — they roam upon ''ranges," 
which are seldom less than four or five hundred acres 
in extent. This is because the herbage is compara- 



40 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

lively sparse and the animals must have abundant 
room to range, in order that they may be sleek and fat. 

A SPRING ROUND-UP ON THE PLAINS 

Laying aside his San Antonio paper, our friend then 
proceeds to give us an explanation of the real cow-boy 
life of to-day. 

^^The herds that we see/' he explains, ''do not l^elong 
to one rancher, but to perhaps a dozen or more, who 




ONLY SAGE BRUSH 



take up the land in common. Then the animals are 
turned loose to browse, under the general inspection 
of the cowboys, or as the Mexicans are termed, va- 
queros (vah-kair'-ohs). Often some of the animals get 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 41 

in among the buttes or denser undergrowth, and may 
not be seen by the owner for a year at a time. 

''Then, in the spring, all the cow-boys from the 
ranch-house interested meet at one rancher's home. 
They wear their best suits that day, and are especially 
proud of their hats and of their saddles, both of which 
will be adorned with ornaments of solid silver, and 
sometimes even of gold. 

' ' They are mounted on fine horses, the range is divided 
between them, and away they go to their farthest points. 
Then, as at a fox-hunt in the Blue Grass region of 
Kentucky, the cow-boys drive all the cattle, steers, 
cows and calves gradually in toward a common center. 

''Nor is this as eas}^ as it looks. Yearling calves, 
'heifers,' are frequently fractious, and gallop off, the 
others following close at their heels. Then, too, some 
of the bulls will not hesitate to 'go' for the vaquero, 
and the lasso must be brought into play Many cattle 
too, are hidden in the undergrowth, and it is no easy 
matter to get at them to rout them out 

"At last, however, the cattle are brought to the center 
agreed on, which is know^n as the 'corral' (core-reli'). 

"There the calves, who always accompany their 
mothers, and hence are readily recognized as to owner- 
ship, are branded with the same name as that which 
the cow may bear. To watch the skillful vaquero 
'throw' an animal, apply the red hot branding-iron 
to the skin, and then release the newly branded calf, 
all in a trice, is a sight the novice never forgets. 

"When once the animals are all branded, they are 
turned loose again to roam the plains for another year. 

"When a rancher needs a certain number of head of 



42 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

cattle, he simply sends his cowboys out to bring in the 
desired lot that bear his brand. 

^'That, of course, is the business side of the spring 
round-up. After it come the sports. There is fancy 
riding and such games as ^polo^ and the like. Form- 
erly there were examples of fancy cattle throwing, but 
as the cowboys would practice for this on the plains the 
year round and so frequently cripple their owners' 
stock in the experiment, the law has forbidden the 
sport. 

"A favorite game, however, is to bury a rooster up 
to the neck in the sand, and then have the cowboys 
ride past on a gallop, and lasso the wee bit of head. 

' ' Of course there are feasts at the round-up, and often 
prizes are distributed. Then, the long year opens up 
again." 

Meantime we notice a wave of excitement passing 
over the passengers in the car. On almost every trip 
of the overland trains there will be one or more celeb- 
rities aboard — either in a stateroom, a special car, or 
else in the regular Pullman coaches, for the class of 
people making this transcontinental ride is well-nigh 
the same as that on the great ocean liners. In this 
case, it may be a Japanese envoy, and plans are already 
being laid to catch a glimpse of him at the very next 
halt of the train. 

In fact, some people begin a search of the cais, start- 
ing with the observation car at this end, then through 
the three sleepers, peering especially into their smoking 
compartments, and even through the day coaches as 
far as the baggage car, far in the front, in search of the 
object of their quest. This results in their discovering 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



43 



other acquaintances aboard, and they do not feel the 
expedition to have been wholly useless. 

THE PLAINS 

Meantime the train is ever bowling on over the end- 
less prairie plains. These are covered now with low, 
bare mesquite (mes'-keet) bushes, a plant we will 
come to know well before our Little Journey is over ; 
as also with a smaller gray weed, and patches of another 
yellow, equally dry, grass. Between these we see the 
yellow, pebble-strewn earth, over which are scattered 
the cattle, seldom more than two or three in a group. 
Again, in stretches, there will be millions of low, 
barren trees, in which hang more of the greenish-yellow 




TOURISTS LN THE SOUTHWEST 



44 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROITGH 

bunches of mistletoe. Occasionally, as if for variety's 
sake, there will rise a solitary green shrub, like a laurel. 
All the morning and well on into the afternoon, there 
will be little more than this to see. Of life there is 
nothing in sight anywhere, excepting only those semi- 
occasional cows. 

LIFE ON THE TRANSCONTINENTAL TRAINS 

Those of us who have taken the Little Journeys 
abroad and experienced the life on the famous railways 
there, are interested in noting how time is passed on a 
monotonous section of a journey in the great South- 
west. 

Some of the people are reading magazines (for the 
papers are by this time stale), others books from the 
car's library. Still others are writing at a well supplied 
desk ; the rest are simply dozing. 

It is a welcome call, indeed, when the porter pro- 
claims ^^ Dinner ready in the dining-car.'' 

when uncle SAM RAISED CAMELS 

Over the veal cutlet and the Saratogas, we hear 
another interesting story of this section of our country 
— ^Uncle Sam's camel experiment. 

It seems that away back in the fifties. Uncle Sam 
thought there would be nothing like camels to transport 
his supplies across the deserts of the Southwest. So 
he sent to Africa for quite a herd, and they were put 
into service in this section between San Antonio and 
El Paso, where there are many stretches of from forty 
to ninety miles without water. 

^'When the camels set out, it seems, all went well; 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 45 

but/' our informant continues, ''the chilly December 
winds troubled the animals, and each had to be wrapped 
about with a blanket. Then the Egyptian drivers, who 
had been brought with them, began shivering, as much 
with homesickness as cold. The rough, rocky trails, 
too, told on the feet of the camels, which are shaped 
like the foot of a cow, and are without protection on the 
base, so that the mat or pad wore off, and serious stone 
bruises resulted. Shoes for the camels were impossible 
as there was no hoof to fasten them to. Leather 
sandals, which were tried, were altogether too costly." 

There were innumerable other difficulties, so that at 
last the government gave up in disgust. The interest- 
ing part of the affair is, however, that those remaining 
of the herd of a hundred and thirty camels were turned 
loose to roam the desert at will. They wandered into 
the mountains, and for two or three decades aftenvards 
occasional prospectors would tell of having run across 
one or two camels. 

Even now there are legends of seeing the camels on 
the deserts, whether these are true or not no one knows. 
Suffice it to say, that the remains of all the animals 
have not yet been discovered. 

THE HEAT OF THE DESERT 

Ladies in the observation car prepare to take their 
after-luncheon nap in the easy chairs, for we are now 
getting into an entirely different region of the South- 
west — the desert. 

Some of us have had preconceived ideas of the desert 
gained from our school geographies. Let us see if they 
accord with the reality; we see an endless, parched, 



46 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

dust-covered plain, with scattered areas of low, equally 
parched herbage, sage brush and mesquite, and a low- 
growing cactus. Down upon this pours a broiling sun, 
and here on the observation platform, where the air is 
tempered by the motion of the train, early in January, 
the thermometer is registering between eighty and 
ninety degrees. 

The dust added to the fierce heat drives us inside the 
car, and there another thermometer registers ninety- 
five. 

Outside, through the windows, we see vast white 
areas of earth, the white is the alkali in the soil, which 
we are told needs only water — irrigation — to make it 
very fruitful. We are now in the real Southwest, 
where the story of ^'irrigation'' is ever uppermost in 
people's minds. 

Nor does the desert remain the same throughout. 
Higher forms of mesquite bushes, in endless quantities, 
succeed the alkali tracts, and save for the oil-tanks 
along the track (oil supplanting coal on these lines), 
and, at one place, a lone tent in the waste of prairie, 
where some prospector has camped, we will see abso- 
lutely no sign of life. 

Then again a bit of mistletoe, or off on the sky-line, 
a low hill or butte will be hailed as the greatest of 
curiosities. 

A DESERT TOWN 

At Spofford, we get a peep at a typical desert town. 
There is the post-office in a tiny, tent-shaped hut, a 
store selling general merchandise, a barber shop and 
saloon — that is all; and surrounding this little cluster 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 47 

on every side is tlie endless prairie. Customers must 
ride for countless miles to patronize these places. 

After Spofford there is again only the endless stretch 
of desert. At a mile-stone ^'703 miles from New 
Orleans/^ a Mexican, in great sombrero, that adds a 
a deeper shade to his already dark skin, sits on his horse 
in the sunshine to watch the ^' train go by.'' All that 
we have ever read of the loneliness and heat of the 
desert is recalled at this sight. At another stop an old 
harpist is playing for what the tourists may toss him. 

By and l)y there are more areas of burning sand, 
hidden by tall mesquite. It is so hot on the platform 
that even a young girl from Seattle, who has been 
studying history for an examination on her return and 
who has wished to remain undisturbed, yields to the 
heat and comes in. As everyone is dozing, because of 
the heat and the monotony of endless sand, she can 
study her ^^Rome" in peace. Even when she lifts her 
eyes from the page for a moment, there is nothing but 
the pale blue sky and the sage to divert her attention. 
These endless tracts of desert are very deceptive. It 
is so easy for the traveler to be mistaken as to distances, 
and to become lost on the arid plain. But for the 
distant stations, lone outposts, where tough-looking 
dark-skinned Mexican boys loiter, life is absolutely 
invisible. 

THE FAMOUS RIO GRANDE 

At last there comes a diversion. We strike the 
famous Rio Grande (Spanish pronunciation), ^'The 
Grand River,'' and follow its course. Anywhere else 
this river would be termed a creek, being a narrow 



48 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



stream^ much like the Mill creek, emptying into the Ohio 
at Cincinnati, and heavy with mud. Here, however, it 
is considered a great stream, for water is at a premium. 
Its banks are lined with cotton-fields, and there are 
cattle in its meadows, and, at one place, even sheep. 





\ 


wmi\ 


VM*-. 


^ 




^^^ J- , 1 


< 


te 


-*+^***^<^ 


iip 




,.-^ 

.^^■P ** 


K^^ll 


^ Igl 


f 




1 J|»-i'- ■-- 


*LS.^5*!; 







: 5__i ^.i_^s_J »_ijt 


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STREET ALONG THE RIO GRANDE 

Then, too, there are great palisades and canons to 
make it interesting, reminding us of the canons near 
Sofia, in Bulgaria.* 

We venture out on the platform again, but the dust, 
heavy with alkali, drives us in. How the man in the 
great sombrero, who is plowing out there, stands it, we 
do not know. 



*See "Little Journey to the Balkans. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 49 

This seems to b3 the ''knob country" of Texas. 
The fertile prairies along the river, stretching to the 
pebbly shore, are overgrown with a tall, feathery, 
pampas-grass. 

With the river on our left, and beyond the track the 
cHffs rising in ledges of great blocks of stone, with the 
canons and other rugged ledges, dry and sweltering, 
the region appears to us like what we have read of 
Death Valley, When, later on, we come to Death 
Valley, however, we shall find it otherwise, save for, 
perhaps, certain queer bluffs that seem to be made up of 
layers of rock, while from their tops extend the endless 
mesas of sage-brush and low green cacti. It is a torrid, 
beastly land, and as the windows are all closed against 
the dust, and the shades drawn on the sunny side, we 
think of nothing but how we may pass the time with 
the least exertion. Finally we follow the example of 
others aboard, and take to ginger ale, which we find 
cooling and refreshing, and to a light story. 

By and by sheep begin to appear amid the scanty 
vegetation of the deserts, and we wonder how their 
owners avoid getting lost when in pursuit of the rams. 
Later, when we get on the Mojave (]\Io^-ha-vay) 
Desert, we will learn of their trails and guide- 
marks. 

We now, too, see another produce characteristic of 
the desert — the yucca, crowned at this season with the 
dried flower stalks of the last blossoming time. Over 
the yuccas are hills, blue in distance, that seem very 
near, but which, as a matter of fact, are not less than 
fifty miles away. So clear is the air here, so bright the 
sun, that only experts are safe in reckoning distances. 



50 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



OVER TOWARD THE PECOS 

The train is now traveling at a fearful rate of speed, 
for on the deserts there is little or nothing to check its 
course. The motion cools the air at the open window, 
and so, sitting beside it in company with a young lad 
from Washington state, we fall into a pleasant chat. 

As we thunder over a bridge, thrown across a great 
beautiful caiion, he exclaims with delight, ^'The 



i 

i . ■ .■ 






^'Sfci^^^^' -HHHtai^ 


^^|^^.M««i^^^_| 


P. 






^-.m 


m 


■j0 




■■^m^ 
.__/ 


^;'^ .* ',■• ;.. 



THi. MIGHTY PECOtj 



Pecos!" It indicates that we are very near our desti- 
nation — as ^^ nearness '^ goes in the West. 

He further explains that this whole region is known 
to the natives as over ^'Toward the Pecos," and in 
pioneer days was the genuine Southwest. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 51 

'^The ])ridge across the Pecos is one of the most 
famous of the United States." Just then the train 
stops two full minutes on the trestle, in order that we 
may gaze down in wonderment at the palisades to the 
right and left, and perhaps take a few snapshots with 
the kodak. 

At ten minutes to five, we are off again over the 
plains of sage-brush, the newsboy takes the opportunity 
to profit by our enthusiasm, while it is at its height, by 
selling packs of playing-cards containing views of the 
route, and also post-cards of the l:)ridge. 

About supper time, a few huddling frame buildings in 
the lonely plains attract us, these marking the ranch 
belonging to the famous Lilly Langtry. It is one of the 
great ranches of th^.s country. How they manage to 
kill time there, or in the lone village some miles beyond, 
where we notice a sign reading : 



JUSTICE OF THE PEACE 
THE LAW^ WEST OF THE PECOS 



is the inevitable question that rises in our minds. 

While we sup in the dining-car, the gorgeous desert 
sunsets hold us spell-bound. We have seen their 
duplicates only on summer nights on the Mediter- 
ranean.* Up from the dull plains of brush the sky 
seems to circle in gorgeous violets in the east, while the 
western half of the firmament is one fanfare of all the 
more brilliant colors. 

Night, however, comes suddenly; at 6:30 it is dark. 
In the cars, people while away the time as best they 

■^See "A Little Journey to the Balkans." 



52 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

may, reading, writing and looking up guide-books. 
To-da}^, we find, in going from Houston to San Antonio 
(572 miles distant from New^ Orleans), we have covered 
two hundred and nine miles, while between San 
Antonio and Rosenfeld, where we arrive at about 
10:10 to-night, three hundred and thirty-two more 
were added. In fact, we are only six miles short of a 
thousand west of the Crescent City as we sink to sleep 
in our berths. 

THE THIRD DAY BY RAIL 

When we rise at about ten minutes to seven, the 
morning of our third day on the train, it is still pitch 
dark outside ; the stars are shining, and we must dress 
by the light of the wash-room lamps. The heat drives 
us to the platform again, and we inquire as to our 
whereabouts. 

We learn that we are somew^here in the vicinity of 
Sabine (Say-bine), Texas, about eleven hundred and 
sixty-three miles from New Orleans. We have mounted, 
moreover, to an elevation of about thirty-six hundred 
feet above the sea. In the night, in fact, we passed 
through Paisano (Pie'-sah-no), the summit of the 
route, which lies 5,082 feet above the sea-level. 

Learning that our stopping place, El Paso (L Pah-sew), 
is not really so very much farther away (1,192 miles 
from New Orleans), we get our things in order ready to 
leave the train, and then prepare to enjoy the tardy 
dawn. Off in the west the sky is still a deep blue-black. 
In the east it is red just over the foot-hills. The rest 
of the firmament is a clear blue. As the day grows 
older, the whole sky becomes blue. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



53 



While we are at breakfast, a long train of cars filled 
with the Texas steers flies past, the animals ''bunched" 
close, side by side, in the cars, and alternating heads 
and tails to each side of the car, a position, perhaps, 
necessary in order that their great horns may not 
become entangled one with another's. 

THE FIRST ADOBES 

The first adobe (a-dough'-bee) huts are now awaiting 
our inspection. Adobe, or as they say down there, 




AN ADOBE HUT 



^' do-be," is simply the clay of the region put up over 
laths or brush, to form houses and barns In a rain- 
less land the dobe serves its purpose admirably, being 



54 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

cheap, abundant and enduring. Consequently, long 
before we are out of the Southwest we shall be pretty 
tired of seeing it. 

Right here, however, the houses made of it seem often 
lone and sad, scattered singly in the desert. Here and 
there are little villages, where each residence is built 
square, the yellow earth walls pierced with neat win- 
dows of many panes, that open to right and left of the 
door. A few drear trees will stand close to the door- 
step, and, in addition, there will be a ladder giving 
access to the roof, on which place the inmates often 
sleep, through the summer. The aspect of these vil- 
lages is dreary and reminds us of those of the cliff- 
dwellers of which we have read. 

At half -past eight the journey through the desert 
comes to an end. The train slows up and stops and the 
porter calls, ''El Paso.'^ It seems too good to be true. 
We are at the first great point of interest on our long 
pilgrimage. 

EL PASO, THE CURIOUS 

El Paso appears to us to be an entirely new town. 
Everything has an air of freshness about it, as though 
the bricks of the buildings had just been baked, and 
the paint on the house walls laid on a few hours ago. 

El Paso, we learn, has a unique distinction among 
American cities. It is the largest town in the largest 
county, in the largest congressional district, in the 
largest state in the Union. As its enthusiasts tell us, 
no other city of equal size exists within six hundred 
miles in any direction. 

Twenty-five years or so ago, where now the substan- 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 55 

tial brick, one or two story houses stand, there was 
simply desert. 

Strangely enough, however, we find the streets quite 
muddy. That is another feature of the Southwest of 
which we will hear a great deal on our trip. The 
climate seems to be changing and in the last two or 
three years they are having abundant rains where rain 
was never known to fall before. 

The numerous Mexicans and Indians standing about 
under the arc -light, or about the street corners, interest 
us greatly. There are also many Chinese, who run 
pretty nearly all the restaurants. Coming as we do 
from New Orleans, it appears to us that negroes are 
conspicuous by their absence. Quite a few Greeks and 
Italians are to be seen, but Spanish is the language we 
hear spoken most often, in fact we hear more Spanish 
than we do English. 

The Mexican and Indian women interest us also. 
They are wrapped in great black blanket-shawls which 
they fold about them, up over the head, neck and chin. 
Within these shawls very often a baby is hidden though 
we would never suspect it. 

We stop to buy what are known as ^^ all-day suckers, ^^ 
from the passing candy-men and then stroll out of the 
town proper, to the yellow adobe huts that stand in the 
sand, with queer pigeon-coops on their roofs, where 
more of the dark-skinned, morose Mexican citizens of 
the United States have their homes. 

An electric car goes by, the fore and rear ends like 
an ''open'^ car at home, the center enclosed. It is 
marked ^'Mexico," and the temptation is too great to 
be resisted. 



56 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

All manner of street-life attracts us. Here, at one 
point, it is a house with a crape tied to the top of the 
door, instead of to the bell, as with us. Again it is the 
light-colored dogs, or the hogs, that run about every- 
where, as in some Turkish city. Wagons drawn by 
one pony, with another hitched to their side for no 
apparent purpose, are other curiosities. We likewise 
notice the custom of tying a cow to the house-door, 
quite frequently, on the hot, sun-baked desert sand, 
and we wonder where the fresh-cut hay, with which 
each is surrounded, comes from. 

JUST OVER THE RIVER INTO MEXICO 

We come upon a primitive wooden bridge across the 
Rio Grande, and across the river we see the town of 
Ciudad Juarez waiting to be explored. We had hardly 
intended to make our Little Journey extend over the 
border, since we have already made a ' ' Little Journey 
to Mexico,'^ but we feel as if Juarez were simply a 
suburb of El Paso and that we may cross the line just 
this once. 

The houses of Juarez remind us of those described in 
^'Ben Hur,^' square, and of adobe, coated over with a 
colored plaster, or painted in imitation of blocks of 
cement. In the front there is always a porch, and the 
prettier places have a garden of plants protected by 
hemp or sacking covers, against what is termed the 
winter down here. 

On our right is a barber-shop, and we notice in pass- 
ing, that the barber keeps his hat on his head while 
shaving his customers. Next door to him is one of the 
numerous souvenir stands with which Juarez abounds, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



57 



and in the window the cycles of pictures of the bull 
fights tempt us sadly— these and the Mexican drawn 
work or tidies of linen, in open patterns. Nor are these 
all the novelties prepared for the tourist dropping into 
Juarez. Pictures of cock-fights, made of the gayest 
cock-feathers are offered on every hand. Then, too, 




COCK FIGHTERS, MEXICO 



there are stores where lizards are sold and others that 
make a specialty of drawn-work from the interior of 
Mexico, where wages are low, that is as fine as the 
proverbial cobweb, and whole scarfs of which can be 
rolled into a ball and held in the palm of the hand. 

Following in the wake of some Indian girls, their 
coal-black hair parted in the middle, and scarlet 



58 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

blankets thrown over more modern dresses, heighten- 
ing their picturesque appearance, we come to the 
Mission church, about which are gathered hawkers of 
imitation flowers, candies and the like. Both the 
church and the district municipal offices face upon a 
plaza, or open square to which the town jail forms a 
third side, and the market the fourth. 

A QUEER MARKET FOR ONE SO CLOSE TO THE BORDER 

All manner of queer things are sold on this market. 
There is, for instance, a round brown cake, about four 
inches in diameter, which is made of pumpkin, and is 
a brilliant yellow inside. This sells for eight cents, or 
at one cent the slice. Mexican money, of course, is 
employed, but they are so close to the border that our 
American coins are current, and the price in these is 
always just one-half what it would be in the Mexican. 

Candied pumpkin, in rich brown treacle, and the 
chili, which resembles a long okra (which opens when 
ripe, exposing the white seeds inside), as well as red 
peppers and dried beans and okra itself, are every- 
where. Then there are stands of water-jugs made of 
the brown, native pottery and tiny little jugs and jars 
for the doll-houses, in white and maroon. Tied to the 
different stalls frequently, will be a pair of wiry game- 
cocks, prepared to fight whenever their masters can 
arrange a match. 

Peanut sellers are everywhere — these and venders 
of what appear to be curiously carved rattles, but 
which, in reality, are sticks for stirring chololate. 
Another feature of this market are the bunches of 
clean, tiny brooms, about the size of a shaving-brush, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



59 



but bound about in gay paper, and none of them over 
six inches in length. 

There is a restaurant here in the heart of the market 
and if we wish we can partake of extremely thin white 




MARKET SCENE AT JUAREZ 



pancakes which will be served in stacks right on the 
table itself; they are used to absorl) the red, well 
spiced gravy of the meat. 

From the market to the prison is no far cry, and we 
will rather enjoy walking past the pompous sentries 
into the interior court of the jail, upon which the several 
cells open. Aside, however, from the meager furnish- 
ings, these recall so much of what we saw on our 
Little Journey to Mexico as not to hold us long. 



60 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

Those of us, too, who did not make that other Little 
Journey will want to take a peep inside the Mission 
church, and after that at the great bull-ring. As these, 
however, are identical with that we have already seen, 
we can spare them but little space in our note-books. 

Returning in the electric cars to the United States, 
we note a clever idea — the placing of advertisements in 
the handles of the straps for passengers who are forced 
to stand. 

THE LAND OF GEMS 

In El Paso again we will want to watch some tur- 
quoise lapidary at work, for some of the finest tur- 
quoise in the world come from this region. The 
wonderful Tiffany mine is not many miles away. If 
we had time we should enjoy a visit to this treasure 
house, for it would remind us of the cavern where Ali 
Baba found the loot of the forty thieves. Only a cer- 
tain number of months of each year do the Tiffanys 
work this mine, in order to keep down the supply, and 
then, for the rest, the great iron door, which closes the 
entrance to it, is kept locked and closely guarded. 

Turquoise are mined either right on the surface of 
the earth or as far down as a hundred and fifty feet. 
After blasting the rock, it is broken into smaller 
nuggets, and these are sorted then into any one of six 
different grades, according to purity and the shade of 
blue. 

The matrix or foreign substance found in the tur- 
quoise frequently appears in very curious forms — 
trees, rivers, even indistinct shapes of animals being 
found — and, in larger stones, this is much coveted. A 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 61 

stone the size of a robin's egg, and abounding in such 
figures, is cheap, the lapidary tells us, at forty dollars* 
We enjoy watching him first cut the raw material, 
then rough down the stone on a carborundum wheel, 
and after that, when perhaps two-thirds the original 
weight of the stone is gone, polishing on wheels of 
varying grits down to the finest. It would take per- 



THE PROSPECTOR 



haps two hours to see him finish a stone, fresh from the 
mine, but we do not care to linger so long. 

What claims to be a ranch outfitting store next 
attracts our eye. \^Tien we get inside we find that it 
costs more than we supposed for a cowboy to '^rig up" 
in style. For state occasions, the cowboy invests in the 



62 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

most expensive luxuries. Stirrups which are silver 
plated and cost ten dollars apiece, while the ordinary 
ones cost but fifty cents ; spurs for the same price, often 
inlaid with gold, and hats encircled with cord on cord 
of silver rope, which are considered cheap at fifty to 
seventy dollars, these are just a few of their extrava- 
gances. Moreover, the pistols, carbines, and the like, 
also cost not a little, so that the cowboy is far from real- 
izing the idea we had formed of his primitive poverty. 
Even for his most ordinary attire, it costs, we are told, 
as much as eighty dollars to fit out the vaquero from 
head to foot. 

THE GREAT SMELTERS 

We are here in the heart of the mining region, and 
while there are no mines close by, a car marked ' ' Smel- 
ter," happening along seems to indicate something of 
interest. Boarding it, we are given another oppor- 
tunity of seeing the neat little homes of El Paso, with 
the ladies cycling about on the pavements, and the 
Mexicans plodding countr}^ward. Arrived at our 
destination, we see that the huge smelter stands on a 
bluff, but cannot obtain admission to it. 

We return in time for our evening meal, and after 
supper we walk cross to Juarez, where there is always 
something unique to interest us. Our pocketbooks 
suffer from these expeditions, for the souvenirs are 
well-nigh irresistible. 

The next morning the breakfast surprises us. There 
is such an air of simplicity about the hotel, with its 
negro waiters and the like, that we feel we may venture 
on ordering a hearty meal. The bill, however, is 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



63 



enormous. Strawberries are twenty-five cents for each 
portion, a grapefruit is the same price. ^lackercl, too, 
cost a quarter, and even eggs, less than three of which 




A DESERT MINE 



they will not serve, bring the same pricec We realize 
that we are going west, where not only wages but 
prices are different. 

We have still all the morning to spend as we may in 
El Paso. Again and again, however, our steps lead 
across the border to the interesting sights which 
Juarez affords. 

WESTWARD HO! 

At twenty minutes to three we find ourselves once 
more aboard the train, bound ^ Westward ho!'' 



64 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

Great flats of sand-hills and sage brush stretch off 
from the Rio Grande, which is here a narrow stream 
disappearing among the foot-hills. Then there follow 
only endless wastes of pure white sand, on which grows 
nothing but the low sage brush. In places this sand 
has been beaten by the wind into perfect, rib-like 
waves. Low weeds grow in the gullies between them. 

For miles and miles this desert — a desert such as 
we have imagined the Sahara, stretches on and on, the 
buttes of sand scintillating in the sunlight. Not till we 
reach Pelea is there a lone station, in the heart of the 
sand wastes which then stretch off as far as the eye can 
see on every hand. Occasionally some high peak rises 
in this desert, seaming actually to quiver in the heat, 
as we view it from a crack in the shades, drawn at each 
opened window. 

When at last the distant mountains appear on the 
scene, a delightful breeze sweeps in through the win- 
dows, and the part of the desert which we are now 
traversing, is varied with a brown grass, some sage, and 
innumerable dried yucca blooms, and does not seem 
quite so dreary. But we wonder how in the pioneer 
days people could find courage to cross these miles of 
sandy waste, and we admire their daring, which we 
are now able to appreciate. 

There is always something to interest in the desert. 
In places, for example, the sand seems covered over 
with a melted pitch, as though to keep it from shifting. 
At other points, the wind has made regular cuttings 
with results resembling greatly the cliff -dwellings of New 
Mexico. Ever on the right lies a mountain range, the 
bare mountains either purple or gray or both, as the 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



65 



sun plays upon them, or seeming to reflect the clear 
blue of the sky. Then there are undulating barrens, 
likewise formed by the wind, where there is absolutely 
nothing in sight but a few green }'uccas. 

By and Ijy, away off on the horizon, a great herd of 
ponies is visible. Later there are some goats. Then 
we know we are near a desert settlement, Strauss 
(Strow-ss). As outpost to Lanark (Lan'-ark), another 




BURNING SOTO WEED 



of these lonely towns, too, we see far away, a cowboy 
on his horse among the cacti. 

Pretty soon there are some ranges — ranges of 
thousands of acres — on which mighty herds are 
grazing. Each of these has its ranch-house and one 
long, poorly whitewashed shed containing a series of 



66 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

rooms for the '' greasers " just behind the railway sta- 
tion. The desert is changing to prairie, and there is 
mesquite again. On the far distant mountains, snow is 
visible. So we know we are approaching a change 
in the landscape. 

At about half-past five the sun sinks behind the far 
mountains, where the snow is lying. This sunset at the 
edge of the prairie reminds us of those at sea. 

OUR AMERICAN HOLLAND 

At ABOUT six o'clock, hundreds of windmills appear, 
and on the desert prairie a miniature Holland seems 
to unfold before us. 

There is, however, this difference that whereas 
in Holland they use the mills to get rid of overabun- 
dant water, here they cannot have a similar object, for 
water is still at a premium. 

We will get off and investigate. The first result of 
our investigation is to discover that we are no longer in 
Texas, but in the Territory of New Mexico, one of the 
two great territories destined to become our next states. 

We have anticipated with some fear our nights in 
these small towns of the territories, for at home we 
always associate this part of our country with the bluff, 
sharpshooting ranger, ready to use his rifle on the least 
provocation, and with the unfriendly ^'Mexican,'' who 
has crossed the border for the good of no one but him- 
self. 

We are, therefore, agreeably surprised to find away 
out here in Deming, a nice modern hotel, with even the 
luxury of electric light. 

In the twilight we walk up the main street of the 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 67 

town to see where Shakspere lives — for Deming has 
an editor by that name, whose residence is pointed out 
to strangers to amuse and puzzle them. We, however, 
are glad to secure this peep into a typical, better-class 




WINDMILLS AT DEMING 



home of the territories. The home of this gentleman 
is the usual one-story edifice with a low, cozy central 
hall, in which a stove burns merrily. A pair of steer 
horns serving as hat racks, show us we are still close to 
the cattle country. 

Of course, we ask the Colonel about the curious 
windmills and learn that down beneath Deming 
(Dem-ing'), there flows a so-called ''lost river," whose 
source is somewhere in the j\Iiml)res (Mim'-bers) 



68 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

Mountains. By sinking a well fifty or sixty feet, con- 
nection is made with this stream, and water in paying 
quantity is procured. After the well has been sunk, 
windmills are set up over it, the wind serving to pump 
the water into storage-tanks, usually just beside them, 
but sometimes on the house itself; from these tanks it 
flows as desired. 

FREE LAND 

From water to land is the usual course of conversa- 
tion out here in the Territories, and we appreciate how 
backward this region is in civilization, when we are 
told that within three miles of town there is unimproved 
land, which we could obtain from the government prac- 
ctically free, if we would undertake to settle upon it, 
under the Homestead Acts. As soon as water can be 
brought to this same land, it jumps in value to some- 
thing like fifty dollars the acre. All manner of schemes 
are being devised to procure the precious water, one of 
the latest being an appliance whereby compressed air 
should force it out of the earth, as dirt is extracted from 
a carpet by the new ^ ' on-the-floor " cleaning process. 

Another feature of the Southwest that the people 
who drop in to meet us dwell upon, is the wonderful 
change that has taken place in the climate in the last 
few years. It appears that it has rained continuously 
every day throughout the past winter, and the rainfall 
each winter of the last six years has been greater than 
any preceding year. 

Of course, now that we are in the Territories, w( 
shall want to hear how they feel as to the question of 
whether they shall become States or not. We learn 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 69 

that here in New Mexico, the people are quite wiUing 
to be joined into one State with Arizona, rather than 
not come into the Union at all. Arizona, however, is 
rather more particular, and as we shall find, resents this 
idea. Arizona has great mining and railway interests 
that are especially opposed to such a union, and so will 
fight it to the end. The plea against making a single 
state of New Mexico, they tell us, is that though she 
has a population of only about two hundred and 
eighty thousand people, she would have two Senators 
in Washington, and this would he unfair to a great 
State like New York, with its millions of people, who 
likewise have but two representatives in the Upper 
Congressional house. 

Nevertheless, the people of the Territories we find to 
be quite as good a class of people as that of the States, 
and we cannot l)lame them when they demand repre- 
sentation, and are unwilling to be regarded merely as 
the wards of the nation. We are strengthened in our 
sympathy with them when we hear how poorly some 
of the laws apply to them, so that they have good 
reason to doubt whether Congress ever reads half the 
rules it passes for their '^ benefit." They tell us they 
want a voice, too, in electing their officers, for as it is 
now, all their executives as well as the judiciary are 
appointed. 

It is a lovely starry night when we leave the Colonel's 
for our hotel, but so pitch dark that we stumble and 
grope wildly. Suddenly a voice out of the shrubbery 
startles us. It is a young man with a buggy who having 
gone to make a ''call" and found his young lady friend 
absent, invites us to take her place in his buggy, 



70 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

and ride back to town. While we ride toward Deming, 
he talks of the days when General Lew Wallace, the 
author of '^Ben Hur/' was governor of New Mexico, 
telling anecdotes he has heard from his father. Then 
he offers some cider from a jug under the seat and 
while we indulge, he tells of his late feats of catching 
mountain lions, and we feel that we are still in the 
wild, wooly West. 

A NEW-MEXICAN TOWN 

When day comes and we begin to ramble about in 
Deming, we will be disappointed, although it is a 
typical New Mexican town. 

The houses, almost without exception, are one or 
two-story frame, each with a front porch set level with 
the garden, this garden being a mere mass of sand, 
in which low bare trees, or great cacti thrive, while 
here and there a few arbor-vitse are sprouting. Every 
garden has its windmill and tank. 

The streets are wide and of sandy mud, the side- 
walks are of the same. All around outside is the prairie 
with the mesquite, the crows and the sage brush. 

Having seen all there is to be seen, which is certainly 
not much, we saunter down to the station. Some 
Mexican soldiers, some Indians and a number of rough- 
looking Americans lounge about, as they do on the 
stage in all popular Southwestern plays. 

By and by the train arrives, and we start on again 
toward the West. We traverse an endless sandy plain 
of gray sage-brush, with only an occasional green palm 
or shrub. Now and then, far off in the distance, a 
coyote (ki-o-teeO will seem to be racing the train, then 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



71 



these animals sink into the horizon. Vast areas of the 
desert are almost snow-white and covered densely 
with a strange, gray-white weed; here and there 
cattle are to be seen, and now and then some lone 
bull's skeleton lies bleaching on the plains. 

THE FAMOUS MINES OF LORDSBURG 

Our ride is not really a long one, for we are bound for 
Lordsburg, the heart of a great mining country. 
Fifty-seven railway cars, holding 35,700 pounds of ore 
apiece, roll by as we pull into the station. 




OPENING A GOLD MINE IN THE DESERT 



Lordsburg we find to be a straggling one-street town 
that does not appear very safe. However, by the time 
we discover this fact, the train is gone and we must 



72 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

make the best of it. As a matter of fact, we will find 
ourselves just as safe down here as anywhere else, as 
long as we obey the great axiom of the Southwest — to 
mind our own business. 

The hotels in this part of the country are distinctive. 
The lower floor is occupied by stores. We climb a 
flight of stairs in the center of the building to the second 
story, where a small register stands in the hall from 
which the rooms lead off. 

In Lordsburg itself, as in most of these mining towns, 
there is nothing to see. There are exactly twelve 
houses — a hotel, a bakery, a flour mill, and a general 
store (the latter with the clocks in the window turning 
their backs to the street), a post-offlce, express com- 
pany and telegraph office, and the rest saloons in which 
the roulette-wheels and card tables are never idle. 

We want to see the famous New Mexican mines, and 
so engage a buggy. Our driver is a so-called ^^mine 
watcher," his duty being to live in mines temporarily 
closed, while the owners go about securing more money 
to dig deeper, and to prevent the expensive machinery 
from being carried off, piece by piece, as it would be 
with no one to guard it. 

As we ride out into the desert, we learn much from 
the driver about the manner of life of the miners and 
prospectors. 

It appears that prospectors, as the hunters after 
mines are termed, when once they find indications that 
promise rich ore, will buy the claim; that is a stretch 
of land fifteen hundred feet in one direction by six 
hundred in the other. If the ore here promises to be 
rich, and is, say, copper, this will cost about a hundred 



THK GREAT SOITHWEST 



73 



dollars. Often more gold and lead than copper will be 
found in such a claim. 

Of course this staking of a claim is largely a matter 
of luck, the prospector judging of what lies deep in the 
earth by what is seen on the surface. The owner, for 
perhaps months before, has gone about alone or with an 





t 


^BB|M[^^^^H^^^B|^B^^K^«B^^»fea|i 


^1 



STAKING A CLAIM 



assistant, and with pick and shovel has struck at the 
ledges and dug down as far as he could by hand. Then, 
if he found, ore that seemed to pay, he set up a wind- 
lass, perhaps six feet tall, and taking nearly a whole 
day to get into operation. A rope and bucket were 
then attached to this, and the dirt windlassed out, 
until the prospector could descend into his ''mine'' a 



74 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

distance of perhaps fifty feet. During all this time 
he has been living quite a hermit's life and subsist- 
ing on nothing better than beans, bacon, and coffee 
— ^the latter sweetened with a little sugar and the 
whole kept tied to one of the ponies' sides. 

Probably the prospector soon realizes that his 
''strike" is no strike at all; so he gives up. On the 
other hand, he may still feel encouraged. If so, he 
then erects a steam or gasoline hoisting engine, and 
continues for say ten or a dozen feet beyond ; and if 
then there is no ore, and the indications are not excep- 
tionally good, he will stop. 

If, however, ore is ''struck,'' the man proceeds to sell 
his claim to whoever he can induce to buy it. If the 
ore "runs" as much as twenty-five to thirty-five 
dollars a ton, he may get a thousand dollars for it. 

When such a claim is bought, the new owner brings 
out a gang of about ten men, regular miners or drillers, 
and "muckers," or shovelers, who sink a shaft at the 
rate of from six inches to two feet a day. In this way 
it takes about thirty days to get a fair mine in running 
order, so that the ore can be taken out. 

Meantime we have been riding over the low pebble- 
strewn desert that goes to make up the "Foothills of 
New Mexico." 

By and by we come to a number of adobe huts, with 
Mexican children playing about and Mexican women 
idle in the doorway. These are miners' homes and 
indicate the presence of a mine. Beyond will be a long 
boarding-house for the officers of the concern and after 
that a rough shed over the hoisting machinery. 

If we have sufficient nerve, we will then step into 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 75 

what resembles nothing so much as a barrel-shaped 
kettle, at the end of a cable. The signal is given, and 
whizz! down we go a thousand, two thousand, three 
thousand feet, into night and cold, to where the miners 
are at work in the galleries, picking the ore from the 
rock, shovehng it into cars, and then loading into 
kettles such as we came down in, for hoisting to the 
surface, for mining is very primitive in its methods 
down here. 

From that mine we can go on to another and another 
and so on indefinitely. Here in the desert, mines are 
everywhere, and almost every sand-hill hides one from 
view. 

Where there are not mines, there will often stand, 
right in the sand, a little pile of boulders, marking the 
corner of some man's claim. Again, at other places, 
one sees deep pits in the desert, that show where the 
prospector has given up in disgust. 

THE CACTI 

Another thing that interests us out here on the 
desert, is the endless variety of cacti. 

They are of every sort, from long spiny rods, that 
look like serpents with thorns in their sides, to great 
ball-shaped or oval plants, that blossom in gorgeous 
colors. The '^ dagger," however, is, with the yucca 
plant, the most common of all. To these the prospec- 
tors and miners set fire, and cook their coffee over the 
blaze or warm their hands at it in the chill of early 
morning on the desert. 

We take down the different names of the cacti as 
given by our driver— the ^'corn-cob" and the ^'prickly 



76 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



pear/' the ^'oketare'' (oh-ke'-tare) and the stingare 
(stin'-ga-ree) and goodness knows how many more. 

We could go on farther still into the desert, to more 
mines and among more claims, but should only find a 
repetition of what we have seen. 




THE CACTI 



We therefore direct our guide to drive us back again 
to Lordsburg in season for the afternoon train. 

Our route now takes us through Stein's Pass, at an 
altitude of forty-three hundred feet above the sea, and 
then down grade into Arizona. 

ARIZONA, THE INTERESTING 

Suddenly every eye in the car turns toward the win- 
dow and every neck is craned to obtain a glimpse of 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 77 

the Chiricahue (Kiri'-ka-hue) Mountain range that 
borders the track. Of course, Uke the rest, we want to 
see Cachise (Ka-cheese'), the fierce Apache (Ah'-pach-e) 
chieftain, who Ues along their tops. It is wonderful — 
this profile of a sleeping Indian brave, made by the 
contour of the peaks — it reminds us of the profiles in 
the White ^Mountains which we visited on our Little 
Journey to New England. 

The conductor calls ^' Bowie ^' (Boo^-e), and we 
know we are now in Arizona (Ah-ree-zon^-ah). 

Those of us who have seen the play by that name, 
expect to find the vaqueros and the soldiers, and the 
Indians everywhere. And the name of this stopping 
place certainly suggests bowie-knives and the like! 

From Bowie, we can make some interesting side- 
trips from the main trunk of railway. The first of 
these is to the Apache Reservation, where there 
are still hundreds of the braves and their squaws, 
living in a semi-civilized state. Some of the younger 
Apaches are model gentlemen, and as many of them 
possess a fair amount of money, they dress well, and, 
but for their ver}' dark skins, might be taken for any 
other young men of refinement. On the reservation, 
too, we will find Geronimo (Heh-ro'-nee-moh), the 
famous warrior, still held as a Federal captive, and 
still fierce of eye and quick of hand as he was when 
younger, and when the names of Geronimo and of 
Sitting Bull struck terror to every heart in the 
West. 

We can also make a run up into the Gila (He'-la) 
Valley to Globe, where there are other famous copper 
mines. These trips we find worth while, as at each 



78 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



mine visited we learn some new feature of the work 
of extracting ore from the earth. 

A new feature of transportation is now attached to 
our train, one which we have not met on any of our 
former Little Journeys, but specimens of which 
are numerous out in the West and attract our notice. 
This is the tourist car, a cheap sort of sleeping car, 
adapted particularly to home-seekers, especially to those 




COMING FOR THE PAPERS, NEW MEXICO 



with little children, who go with their families out into 
the West, as did the pioneers, to found new homes. For 
their benefit, at one end of the car there is a stove where 
meals may be prepared, and there is always hot water 
and the like, so that the home-seekers, who usually 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 79 

occupy one car for several days at a time, remind us a 
good deal of the second-cabin passengers on an ocean 
liner. 

SAND STORMS AND MIRAGES 

We thought we knew the desert before, but here in 
Arizona we become acquainted with one more phase — 
the sand storms. Luckily, for us, we are not out in 
them, for the sand taken up by the wind and whirled 
over those plains stings as though each particular grain 
were a keen-edged knife-blade. It sifts through cloth- 
ing, shoes, everything — and there is httle rehef . 

Another peculiarity of the Arizona desert is the fre- 
quent mirages of lakes or pools, or groves of trees 
are refracted on the stretches of snow-white alkali, 
which, in the distance, turns to blue, and seem to make 
one tremendous lake. The bluish sheen is beautiful, but 
when we realize how tantalizing these illusions must 
have been to those for whom no water was at hand, we 
appreciate once more the fortitude it required to cross 
the desert in early days. 

Even now* we pass a prairie-schooner, a canvas- 
covered wagon drawn by mules, plodding slowly along 
on a trail parallel with the railway. Undoubtedly a 
trip of that kind is a hardship, but the people of to-day 
have this advantage over their predecessors — that they 
need not fear dying of thirst. Throughout the South- 
west, it is a law that whenever anyone runs short of 
water in any place, and really considers his hfe in 
danger, he has the right to flag a train of any sort and 
exact the beverage, at a fair price. An incident of this 

♦January, 1900, to be exact. 



80 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

sort will occur to us later, while crossing the Mojave 
(Mo-ha-vay) Desert, we do but anticipate it here. 

Everyone is talking of the mines of this vicinit}^, and 
wherever there is a halt, we see the rough-looking, 
queerly clad miners. At Benson we stop for some 
time, while people leave for or get on from Guaymas 
(Gway-mus), in Low^er California, where the recent min- 
ing troubles occurred. One hears of gold and silver 
and copper and lead, until it would seem there was 
nothing else in the world. 

We take our supper in the dining-car, and then ride 
on into the night. It is only half-past eight when 
Tucson is reached, but it is inky dark. That is the 
peculiarity of these starry southwestern nights. 

TUCSON 

We leave some of our baggage in the station at 
Tucson (Toe-sun), safely checked, and start across the 
street to where lights are burning brighth\ From 
what we have seen of the other ''towns'' down here, we 
think this is the main street, and prepare to take lodg- 
ing in one of the hotels. 

Luckily a stranger observes us and advises us not to 
do so. ''There are better hotels above,'' he says, "if 
you went to sleep here, you might awake either abso- 
lutely penniless, drugged and on the street, or maybe 
even in heaven." 

We think that perhaps he is working in the interests 
of some other hotel, which may prove even worse than 
these. So we continue on toward the lodging-places. 
On closer approach we see that he is right, for here in 
Tucson there are still some of the dangerous "resorts" 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



81 



that once made the Southwest notorious. Just to pass 
them, and peep in through the windows at the char- 
acters at the bar, and the roulette tables, and at the 
men gathered at poker, is an experience so typically 
Southwestern that we are sincerely glad to have had it. 
At the same time we will go elsewhere to sleep. 

We come to a magnificent hotel, a finer structure 
than we had thought possible in this part of the world. 
But even there, before they give us the room, a great 
burly negro steward looks under the bed and in the 




MAIN STREET, TUCSON 



closet, to make sure that no one is hidden there, notices 
are posted in the room directing the guests to lock and 
bar the door. It gives us a thrill that is just suf- 
ficiently^ 'scary" to make us appreciate danger. 



82 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

When we go out on the main street of Tucson, the 
next morning, we will be forced to remark what a large 
proportion of its citizens have dark skins, and we also 
observe the number of consumptives who have come 
out here for their health. In the doorways of small, 
but very modern stores, these people gather, talking 
loudly, as is their way. 

Again we hear of statehood, and this time from the 
standpoint of Arizona. Arizona has only a hundred 
and seventy-five thousand people who count — they 
tell us — ^while New Mexico has four hundred thou- 
sand. If the two went into one state, and majority 
ruled, Arizona would have to simply do as the New 
Mexican pleased. Hence they are opposed to joint 
statehood. 

At Tucson we will find the rooms of the Arizona 
Pioneer Club especially interesting, not only on account 
of the numerous maps, and the photographs and cases 
of books they contain, but also because of the queer 
characters who constantly gather here to recount ^^old 
times. ^^ 

As we enter, one of them is just telling a typical inci- 
dent. His name was Williams and he came to Tucson 
as a grocer in the sixties. Sugar then was six and a 
half cents the pound in New York, but it cost him 
twenty cents in addition to ship it out here, for it had 
to be taken by rail to Cheyenne (Shy'-n) and from 
there carried by prairie schooners. Furthermore, 
when he ^'ran out,^^ he had to wait sixteen months for 
a fresh supply. 

Then another will recall the ^ ^Vigilance Committee," 
as a certain general committee of citizens was called. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



83 



which used to take the law into its own hands when the 
meml)ers thought the officials did not properly execute 
it, and how this committee went to the jail one night, 
took a murderer out, and hanged him to a tree, with- 
out a hand being raised to prevent it. 

We observe a peculiarity in the roofs of Tucson. 
All of them, even those of the stores, project over the 




FAMOUS TUCSON SALOON 

sidewalk, so as to give a shade when the sun is hottest. 
These, and the waterspouts of tin, about a foot in 
length, which likewise protrude most noticeably, are 
characteristic of Tucson houses. 

Many of the gardens of Tucson have magnificent 
palms and cacti. Unfortunately, however, there is 
little grass. 



84 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

A CAR RIDE WITH AN INDIAN CONDUCTOR 

The single street car of Tucson, drawn by two mules, 
comes along, and we step aboard. The conductor, 
who is also the driver, is an Indian — a full-blooded 
one, but he speaks English well, and takes pleasure 
in showing us the points of interest on the road. 

These are indeed not numerous, and consist chiefly 
of an endless number of adobe buildings, in the grass- 
less yards. At the end of the route, however, is the 
University of Arizona, situated in one of the finest 
cactus-gardens in the world. The various edifices of 
the University are built in a Moorish style of archi- 
tecture, that is especially attractive here. The male 
students that we see, one and all wear uniforms for 
this is one of the many universities throughout the 
country which receive support from Uncle Sam, on 
condition that miUtary drills be maintained. 

From the University we stroll over to the Indian 
school, a two-story frame building, to which our atten- 
tion is drawn by a number of Indian lads, felt hats 
upon their coal-black hair, hopping about on one foot 
at their play. These Indians are principally Papagos 
(Pap-pay'-goes) and Pemas (Pea-mahs), who arebrought 
here by their parents when about seven years old, and 
are kept for eight full years. During this time half 
the day's work consists of study, the other of industrial 
work. The girls are taught to cook plain food, and 
make their own clothing; the boys learn irrigation, 
ranching, and, if they show any inclination for such a 
trade, carpentry. 

Now and then the parents visit the children, bringing 
them presents from the Reservation Nevertheless, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



85 



the young Indians take to white men's ways, and soon 
even most of their old games are forgotten. 

THE OLD SOUTHWEST 

Returning to the city by another route, we see some 
names that seem typical of the West as represented in 
the various illustrated journals. 

We see the signs of the Ramona Hotel, the Cactus 
Saloon, the Ostrich Restaurant, and such like, each 
more rough and wild than the other. A company of 




rONY EXPRESS TODAY 



86 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

miners, bound for the Gould mines, have stopped in one 
of these, and their voices fill the air with riot. 

In the afternoon we will drive nine miles out into the 
back country to San Xavier (Savior) Mission, one of 
the finest of the old missions still extant. The site of 
this church was visited by Coronado (Kor-oh-nay'-do) 
as far back as 1539, when the country swarmed with 
Pimas and Papagoes and Coco-Maricopas (Ko-ko- 
Marry-ko'-paws). In 1732, Father Segasser (Say'- 
gos-sehr), a German priest, who was famous in the 
Southwest, took charge of the old church, and services 
have been held ever since to this day. In fact, origi- 
nally, Tucson was simply a sort of supply-ranch where 
cereals and stock were left to be forwarded to the 
mission, and where neophytes were quite generally 
recruited. 

At supper we will have as table companion a gentle- 
man bound for the famous Yaqui (Yah-kee) gold fields, 
in Mexico, where so many serious riots and so much 
bloodshed have occurred, and which are readily reached 
from this city^ 

At twenty minutes to nine we again board the train 
for the next point of any interest, Yuma, which we 
reach at a quarter past six the next morning. 

THE HOTTEST PLACE IN THE COUNTRY 

Yuma has the distinction of being the hottest place 
in the United States. The temperature will often rise 
to a hundred and ten or twelve, and there is practically 
no shade to flee to. As, however, Yuma (You'-mah) 
contains too much of interest for us to pass it by, we 
resolve to brave the heat. 



THE GREAT SOrTIIWEST 



87 



As the train pulls in we see on all sides the Indians, 
the Yumas, in their gay garments, with blankets wound 




ON THE BRIDGE, YUMA 



round their heads and shoulders, despite the torrid 
climate. Straw hats and jeans mark the Yuma 



88 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

'^ bucks/' while the httle pappooses go about with as 
little clothing as is at all permissible. 

Just across the Colorado (Kol-o-ray-do) River here 
at Yuma lies the Yuma Reservation, which we will 
find a most interesting place to visit. The Yumas 
live here in almost primitive state, building wicki- 
ups or cabins of a watthng of boughs and branches 
about four feet square. They extend a roof of these 
boughs out over the front of the cabin, to two slender 
poles, for supports. Under this extension, the women 
and children squat, lounging principally, but now and 
then bringing out the loom, and working on blankets 
or garments. At other times one sees them cooking in 
a great iron kettle over the fire, just as Indians were 
represented as doing in the books we read in child- 
hood. 

Of course there is a large Indian school at Yuma, 
where things are far more modern, but the Superin- 
tendent tells us that when the children leave the school 
and return to the wigwams, the elders scoff at the new 
ways they have learned, and soon cause them to return 
to the old life. 

Those of us who made the Little Journey to Tur- 
key AND THE Balkans will be interested in the prison 
here at Yuma It lies at the upper end of town, and 
is entered through the court-house, a low building 
with a central doorway leading into a sort of lobby. 
On the right is the courtroom furnished with a few 
plain chairs and a table, to the left offices open. In 
the rear is an enclosed courtyard, and opposite the 
entrance a great door of heavy iron bars which marks 
the gaol. Inside that door, as in the Turkish prisons, 



THK (iUKAT SOITHWEST 



89 



all the prisoners are gathered; regardless of the offense 
they may have committed. 

We should like very much to l^oard one of the steam- 
ers which run from here to the Gulf of California, 
by the way of the Colorado River, but this, we 
find on inquiry, the depth of water does not now 




INDIAN WIGWAM, YUMA 



permit. We then inquire, about going in the other 
direction, to the Laguna (La-goo'-nah) Dam, where the 
government is building the second largest dam in the 
world. This great waterway is copied after that of the 
Nile, and those of us caring at all for engineering can 
not afford to miss it. The river route is here, too, 
unavailable, so we will go by wagonette. 



90 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



STAGING IT IN THE DESERT 

This gives us an opportunity to V' stage" it once again 
in the desert, and to ride across a goodly portion of the 
Yuma Reservation. The corrals (kore-rells) for the 
horses on this latter, are built without roof (for it never 
rains here), the signs forbidding trading with the 
Indians, or selling them liquor of any sort, the occa- 
sional Indian boy, riding by on his pony, makes us fully 
realize that this is now the veritable ^'West." Indian 
bucks are numerous, but as they braid their hair be- 




INDIAN GIRLS AT SCHOOL, YUMA 



hind, and as many of them wear blankets, we find it 
difficult to tell the men from the women as we approach 
from the rear. 

We find that this part of the Arizona desert is devoid 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 91 

of cacti, and that it contain only the myrtle-Uke 
arrow weed which rises higher than the stage in perfect 
glades, giving shelter to countless coveys of quail. 
Great, thorny bushes, too, tear at the canvas sides of 
the stage as we dash across the desert. 

When we come to the dam itself, we will be sur- 
prised at its immensity, and at the same time at its 
simplicity. So far as we can see, it is one huge oval 
valley, down which run three concrete parallel walls, 
between which rock is being thrown and pounded in 
for a bottom. The surface of these rocks will be 
cemented over so as to form a vast though rather 
shallow basin. In course of time, however, the sur- 
rounding mountains will form the natural boundaries 
to this gigantic dam, so that there can be no possibility 
of its ever overflowing, and, at the same time, there 
will remain a natural dam over twelve miles long. 

The miniature city which has sprung up here on the 
desert interests us also. There are. hundreds of men 
employed on the work out in these wilds, so that every 
phase of life must be provided for. There is a poHce 
force, and even a hospital, to say nothing of smithies, 
bakeries, and the like. We can, by observing this 
camp, picture to ourselves the settlements that were 
formed when the transcontinental railroads were built, 
and from which many of our present western cities have 
spnmg. 

What Httle time we have on our return to Yuma, we 
spend in sauntering over to the territorial prison, a 
queer-looking structure on the heights — that seems to 
be all walls and no windows, but which, likewise, en- 
closes a court. We also visit the Indian reservation. 



92 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



On this latter, however, we shall have to beware of the 
^' quick-sand/^ a chocolate-colored mud that seems 
very dry until we step on it, when it will engulf us in 
very short order. 

We retire early for we are to leave at quarter to four 
in the morning. Our next stopping place was to 




INDIAN HOME NEAR YUMA 



have been Salton (Saul-tun), where salt was once 
taken from the desert. The Colorado River, however, 
saw fit to change its course, about six months before 
our Little Journey was begun, wiping out the town 
and leaving the railway to rebuild its track twice, 
thrice, and even a fourth time — moving before the 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 93 

vast, ever encroaching water; consequently there is 
now no Salt on to visit. 

Instead, we determine on a side trip into the Imperial 
Valley. We have an enjoyable ride through the great 
sand deserts, whose whiteness reminds us of the shore 
of New Jersey, and again over veritable waves of brown 
sand, where the great sand-storms wage merry warfare. 
We note that as the winds are all from the south, and 
as there is no sod to stay its progress, the sand is shifted 
constantly on and on, in one invariable direction, to 
the utter destruction of all vegetation or of any other 
objects in its path. 

On the north the Chocolate Mountains rise, with 
their wealth of gold and silver, and we are interested 
in watching the dawn on thier peaks. 

Then the brakeman calls ^'Old Beach, ' and we dis- 
embark. 

BELOW SEA-LEVEL ON THE SEASHORE 

We ARE here just two hundred and forty-nine feet 
below the level of the sea, at a distance of 1,822 miles 
from New Orleans. We stand here on the old beach 
of the ocean — that is to say, the beach that was in pre- 
historic times. 

We are to take a side spur of the railway here to visit 
the ''Baby Cities.'' First of all, however, we will have 
breakfast in a Mexican shack that serves as station. 
Only ham and eggs are procurable, and for these they 
charge us half a dollar. 

By and by our train, composed half of freight 
and half of passenger cars, comes along, bound for 
Imperial. 



94 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



THE STORY OF WATER 

Aboard once again, every one is talking irrigation. 
We never heard so much about it in our Hves before. 
We learn that in 1892 the vast scheme of irrigation 
and reclamation of the Imperial Valley was begun, and 
in 1900 the vast work that has converted the desert into 
a garden, was actually started. 

The Colorado River, at a point eight miles beyond 
Yuma was made to yield the main supply of water to 




FALLS IN IRRIGATION CANALS 



a great system of canals, which were built to reach every- 
where into the desert, so that as much as ten thousand 
cubic feet of water could be taken from the stream 
every second. In fact, a head-gate was constructed 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 95 

capable of carrying fifteen thousand cubic feet of 
water. 

The water that could be diverted, however, varied 
with the seasons. That was why the Colorado River 
was so particularly valuable. You got the greatest 
amount of water just when you needed it most, i. e., in 
the summer season. In this respect the stream is un- 
like any other in the Southwest. 

To husband and distribute the water, a main canal 
two hundred feet wide at the mouth was built and from 
it others and others, and still others! To give all the 
statistics they tell us of these would be tiresome, 
suffice it to say that already eight hundred miles of canal 
have been dug and two hundred and fifty thousand 
acres of land have been made irrigable. 

Before the water came, furthermore, land was sold 
at a dollar and a quarter the acre — when you could find 
a buyer. Now some of it, worth a hundred and twenty- 
five dollars an acre, is taken the moment it is put on 
sale. 

And, crops! Why it seems as though they could 
raise everything out here ! Not one only — but two, 
three, four, six, yes even seven crops — notably of 
alfalfa — a year! All in what was once an arid desert. 

On our ride over the irrigated region, we shall be 
interested in watching the spouting of the mud- 
volcanoes, in the distance, which remind us of those in 
Iceland. We will be even more interested in seeing how 
the desert has changed into a garden. ]\Ieantime, how- 
ever, we feel a certain dryness on our lips, and moisten 
them with the tongue. In a few moments they are 
drier still, and ever drier. Drawing out a pocket-glass 



96 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

we find them almost black, and ready to crack. We 
are alarmed until a companion assures us that this is 
simply the effect of the alkali in the air, and occurs to 
all ''tenderfeet" in the desert. 

At eleven o'clock we leave the train at Calexico 
(Kal-ex'-e-ko). The name sounds queer and we 
analyze it. Cal — exico. The one from ^'California'' 
the other from ^'Mexico." Shortly afterward, we come 
to Mexicali (Mex'-e-kahl-e), where the syllables are 
just reversed. It reminds us of Kenova (Ken-oh'-vah), 
at the junction of Kentucky, Ohio and Virginia. 

ON THE FRONTIER 

Once again we are on the frontier of the United 
States, where the custom-house flag floats proudly over 
a neat little station of the Treasury Department. 

Here in Calexico we get our first peep at a ''baby" 
city, for Calexico is not yet five years old. The price 
of town lots, however, in this 'place is from six 
to eight hundred dollars, and out in the ''country" 
you cannot get land for less than forty or fifty dollars 
an acre. Everywhere neat little homes have sprung 
up, and when the trees are large enough to yield shade, 
this ''baby city" will be decidedly pretty. 

We can secure a carriage here to take us over the 
great system of canals and ditches of this famous dis- 
trict. 

Just where we leave the city behind, there is a little 
park, with date palms flourishing nicely, and an Indian 
leaning over the rail. This scene recalls to us the early 
frontier days, and the stories of Ellis and Lounsberry. 
To heighten the association, there is the long row of 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



97 



stores of the '^Mexicali Commercial Co./' that recall the 
establishments of the great Dutch East India Company, 
and the Hudson Bay Company, and like enterprises 




TRANSPORTATION IN NEW MEXICO 

that helped to colonize the eastern coast of the conti- 
nent almost four centuries ago. 

At the same time, however, the presence on every 
side of restaurants where ice-cream soda is served, of 
barber poles, pool tables and modern awnings indicates 
that times have changed. 

By and by we are out in the green harvested meadows 
of what was but recently a desert. Canals, Uned with 
correls, 'dobe houses, and the like are everywhere. 
Five years ago, when the first yard of dirt was dug, 
there was not a drop of water here, and supplies had to 



98 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

be carried to the workmen from the main branch of the 
railway. In fact, when the httle town was founded, in 
1901, freight teams, much hke the '^schooner" we shall 
see at Sacramento, had to carry supplies forty-one 
miles. 

We have heard long ago of the immensity of enter- 
prises out west. In Texas we thought we realized this. 
Here, however, we find ourselves still more amazed. 
One company, for instance, has ten thousand acres of 
land on one side the road, fifty thousand on the other, 
and five hundred thousand acres below, awaiting 
irrigation. Already nine thousand head of cattle, are in 
a five thousand acre range here, and as much land again 
is under cultivation, planted with corn to fatten these 
animals. Think of it — nine thousand black and brown 
cattle in a single field! That is the great Southwest. 

We are interested again in the sluggish ditches that 
are responsible for this growth. We learn that it will 
require a team and the labor of the men accompanying 
it for fifty days to build a ten-foot ditch a mile long, 
and the cost is about three hundred dollars. 

Real Indians are employed at the work, and they 
seem to take to it very nicely. 

Another thing that catches our eye as we ride along 
is the number of muskrat holes in the banks. A single 
muskrat can do thousands of dollars worth of damage 
by boring into the dikes, and letting the water through, 
to overflow the country side. So there are standing 
rewards to the boys of the Imperial Valley to catch 
muskrats and bring in their bodies for bounties. 

If we drive on until evening, we shall hear a peculiar 
drumming. There are no frogs in this ditch country, 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



99 



but a toad living in the water is ubiquitous, and he keeps 
up his music in the more sluggish bayous. 

At twilight, especially, the scene recalls old Indian 
days. For miles there will be no trace of ]\Ian or man^s 
habitation visible, except maybe just on the horizon, 
where an Indian wick-i-up, stands clear cut against the 
sky. We, however, will have exhausted this section 
before sunset ; in fact we must be back at Calexico by 
half -past two, in season for the train. 

We wish also still to see the town of Imperial, the 
most flourishing of the ''baby cities.'' We find it an 




RAISING DATES 



entirely new, modem settlement of one-story homes. 
There are wide streets, metal block sidewalks, and one 
story stores. Everything that modern civilization says 

Lorc 



100 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

we require seems to be found here. Dressmakers and 
butchers, oyster and chop-houses, the signs of a ^^show'^ 
that is coming to town, ice-wagons, telephones, and 
electric lights, as well as penny gum machines attached 
to the hitching posts — ^not to mention general stores — 
all are here. We step into one of the latter to purchase 
some peanuts and the clerk is whistling ^^In the Shade 
of the Old Apple-Tree.^^ Even our ^^rag-time^^ has 
reached the far desert. 

At the same time, out in the street two cowboys, 
with great leather stirrups and spurs, and coiled rope 
at their saddles, are ^'dancing'' their horses as cowboys 
always do in the stories. 

In the evening, at the hotel, we are agreeably sur- 
prised at the supper, and after that at the quiet pre- 
vailing in town. Some of the men gather at the hotel 
to play cards, but in a quiet, gentlemanly manner. 

THE LAND OF THE YOUNG MEN 

The next day we will visit some of the famous 
ranches of the Imperial Valley, this because of a pecu- 
liar interest they have for us, as they may be said to 
embody ^^ young man's land.'' 

Dozens of young college students from all over the 
country have come out to the Imperial Valley, have 
taken up ranches and are making a great success. 
This is the case, not alone in ordinary, but experi- 
mental ranching. One of them, for example, has 
taken to raising Angora goats, and already hundreds 
of the little kids are out in the green, rolling meadows. 
Others are trying rotation of crops — i.e., making the 
same field produce numerous crops of different sorts 



THE GREAT SOI'TH^^'EST 



101 



in a single year, one crop exhausts one set of chemicals 
in the soil, and another another. 

We shall be happy to accept the invitation of some 
of these young collegians, to take dinner with them in 
their bungalows on the ranches. Possibly, if we are 
over particular, the dishes might be washed a little 




RANCH HOUSE, IMPERIAL VALLEY 

cleaner, and we do not altogether relish taking milk 
with a dipper from the pail, and all that — ^but othenvise 
we enjoy the outing very much. 

What we admire most of all is their enthusiasm — 
and that we shall now note as long as we are in Cali- 
fornia. There is only one other state in the Union 
where the people are such absolute state patriots, and 
so constantly singing the praises of their home, and that 



102 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



is Kentucky. Out here in California they do not dis- 
cuss the wrongs of government, and the news of the day, 
and such things, but only and always 'Wonderful 
California. '^ 

Then, too, the enthusiasm of these young men for their 
work is remarkable. Some of them have been ^^ne^er- 
do-wells, rich men^s sons who, not feeUng the necessity 




ANGORA RANCH 



of work, had gone wrong. The wealthy ^'papa" cut 
off their supplies and they came out here, and laying 
aside all their knowledge of algebra, quotations of San- 
skrit, philosophy and the like, they are carving success 
from the desert. 

Nor do they let all work and no play make of them 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 103 

"dull boys/' Baseball is played on the valley turn- 
pikes, sixty-seven feet below the sea level. There are 
racing matches and athletic contests, but what they 
delight in most is to come together on one of the irriga- 
tion canals with their mandolins, and play ' ' Fair 
Harvard,^' or ^^Hail Stanford," or ^^Here's to Good Old 
Yale." Those of us who have made the Little 
Journey to New England will recall how the students 
at Harvard delight in doing much the same on the 
Charles. 

In the course of our drive among the ranches, we will 
find that we shall be now in Mexico, now in the United 
States, now in Mexico again, for the border runs through 
the valley and we are careless which side of it we may 
be on. On the American side, however, we shall want to 
stop for a snap-shot of a grove of African date-palms 
planted out here and under the care of a government 
expert, they are now growing with marked success. 
The younger palms are kept wrapped about with heavy 
paper, but the older ones spread their graceful fans, 
and in a short time dates will be sent out from Cali- 
fornia. 

TO death valley for health 

At half-past three in the morning, we are awakened 
by our host at Imperial to catch the train for the 
Junction, where the main road continues on to the 
coast. 

This ride will take us through a deep depression, the 
bed of an ancient sea, with sulphurous mud and hot 
water springs, to Salton, where we are 263 feet below 
the level of the sea. At Salton, until a few years ago 



104 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



there flourished the not inconsiderable salt industry 
before mentioned. Then in connection with the build- 
ing of the canals we just visited, there was dug a channel 
to divert the waters of the Colorado River. The people 
digging this canal had reckoned on the usual dry 
summer in which to do the work. Instead, however, 
and for the first time in recorded history, there came a 




AT LAG UN A DAM, ON THE COLORADO 



flood at a most unexpected season. The banks were 
washed down, the waters rose high, and the entire 
Salt on Valley was flooded. 

Nothing could stop those waters. Had there been a 
town here, the loss of life would have been a repetition 
of the famous Conemaugh (Kon-a-maw) Valley dis- 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 105 

aster. As it was, the salt-beds were wiped out and 
the villagers fled. 

Still the waters rose, until the}^ spread into a lake. 
The railway tracks had to be moved mile after mile, 
not once, but many times. And the lake, at this writing 
continues to rise. Already it is fifteen miles in one 
direction by forty-five in another. 

The interesting fact about this lake is that it is the 
only lake in the Southwest which is so peculiarly situ- 
ated that it will be self controlled. So great is the 
heat out in the Salton Valley, that it is calculated that 
when the waters have spread over an area of say fifty 
miles by thirty (as the topography of the country 
indicates they will), the amount of evaporation will 
exactly equal the inflow, and consequently there will 
be no further increase in size. Long before this 
occurs, however, the people of the Southwest hope to 
have the lake under control. 

We rather enjoy our ride along this slowly spreading, 
silent desolate lake, out here in the desert, despite the 
knowledge of the havoc it is doing, and has already 
done. There are no houses on its banks, and but for 
the telegraph poles rising out of the water, marking 
the first course of the railway, no trace of ^lan in the 
scene. The entire locality reminds us of the dreary 
Macedonian lakes passed by the train on our Little 
Journey to Turkey. 

palms in the desert 

From twenty-five minutes past six until ten minutes 
to nine, we follow the shore of the Salton Sea, 
with nothing more exciting to interest us than 



106 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



drift, and now and then, a gang of Mexicans at work 
endeavoring to stem, if possible, the course of the 
waters. After the lake is passed the desert becomes 
absolutely white with the alkali, and again as flat as 
the proverbial pancake. 

Then, of a sudden, the brakeman calls ^^Indio'^ 
(In'-dee-oh), the train stops and we are amazed to find 
ourselves in a grove of luxuriant palm trees. Whence 
these came, and when, is an unsolved mystery of the 




TENTS AT INDIO 



desert. That they are a welcome sight, especially to 
those who have come across the deserts without the 
excursion into the Imperial Valley, and have, therefore, 
seen nothing green until now, goes without saying. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 107 

We shall make a stop at Indio in order to see the 
result of a rather unique experiment that is known as 
going to ^' Death Valley for health.'^ Aside from the 
palms, Indio hes in a desert that is much like Death 
Valley. The air, however, is particularly dry, and so 
out on the sand of the wastes there has been opened a 
city of tents, for sufferers from consumption only. These 
poor people, both men and women, are many of them 
in either the last stages of the dread disease, or else in a 
condition which renders it possible to live only if they 
remain here ; they would die almost at once if removed 
to other altitudes. 

The hardest part of the life at Indio, is the lack of 
amusement. The invalids come to see the train pull 
in, and then, perhaps, to get their mail. Indio, how- 
ever, is a very small place and there is not much other 
distraction. Consequently time hangs heavy and even 
long walks cannot be indulged in, for on the desert, 
these are not at all pleasant. Some of the men go 
hunting, for quail, ducks, or rabbits, but the supply of 
game is likewise rather limited. 

It will not take us long to see this camp, as it is 
called. The tents are about thirty in number and each 
is a counterpart of the rest. The}^ have a wooden 
floor, a double iron bed, an iron cot, and usually a 
table with a little oil-cloth cover, on which repose a 
lamp, letters, papers and the like, while beneath are 
some soap-boxes into which other articles are stowed. 

The one lesson, more than any other, that we carry 
away from the place is to appreciate our health, and 
the liberty it gives us. To be condemned to spend the 
remainder of our lives in a spot such as this, to know 



108 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

that to leave it is to surely bring death upon ourselves, 
were terrible indeed. 

ONWARD INTO REAL CALIFORNIA 

From Indio, the route lies on, at last, into the real Cali- 
fornia, namely, that section of the ^^ Golden State '^ 
which we always think of on hearing California 
mentioned. 

This is, of course, the ^^ sunshine land,'^ the ''land of 
palms and flowers and fruits,'^ of tourists and good 
hotels and splendid drives, and a thousand other at- 
tractions. 

As we enter it, we will bid adieu to the real Southwest. 
Not, however, without a parting souvenir, for upon our 
lips a boil is rapidly growing, caused by the alkali in the 
air of the desert. 

On that last ride through the desert, we learn of the 
region traversed. We did not realize it, but we have 
been taking a dive below the sea level without getting 
wet, for out here near Indio, we are as much as twenty 
feet below the surface of the ocean. 

The lack of humidity in this locality, too, is remark- 
able. If we take a hundred per cent to mean air sat- 
urated until it will hold no more water, and zero to 
represent air that is absolutely without moisture, we 
will find that the great general average is eighty percent 
in the Northern Atlantic States. Fifteen percent is 
rare, and ten percent is rarer, even in arid Arabia, 
but out here at Indio, they get down as low often as 
nine percent. In fact, it is stated that there is a rain- 
fall here of but three inches a year. 

This will make the transformation, change and con- 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST • 109 

trast as we enter the ''real" California, all the more 
wonderful to us. 

We note the ' ' lenticulating " of the surface of the 
desert into oblong mounds, raised above the general 
level from two inches to two or even three feet, the 
spaces between the swells being known locally as ''hog 
wallows." For a long time the}^ were thought to have 
been made by the burrowing of ground squirrels ; they 
are in reality the work of the wind, blowing steadily in 
one direction against the moval:)le sands. 

Already at Beaumont (Bow^-mont) we strike the 
fruit-belt, and men are down at the station selling 
oranges at a dime a basket. Everyone buys, so that 
svhen, shortly after, the newsboy comes through the cars 
with his oranges at a nickel apiece, he is literally hooted. 

Everything is green here, now, and the verdure is 
grateful to eyes that have so long been accustomed to 
desert and sand. We note some little canons opening 
off to right and left of the track, and in them hundreds 
of beehives. This is the beginning of the apiary 
country of California, and an apiarist in the seat at our 
side talks entertainingly of bee-culture. As we shall 
visit the larger apiaries later on in this Little Journey, 
however, we will postpone his discourse until such time. 

It is just noon when our two locomotives bear us 
through the great orange groves into the station at 
Colton (Coar-tun). Here there will be really nothing 
for us to see, but we dismount, as this is the junction 
where we change cars for Riverside (as spelled), of which 
we have heard so much. If we wish to be good to our 
pocket-books, we may later find it wise to take lodging 
at Colton, and run back and forth to Riverside at will. 



110 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

Between trains, we may stroll through Colton with 
profit. The little stores, each with its bicycle rack at 
the curb (for the wheel is everywhere in use) are rather 
interesting. Barbers here, we note, as in New Orleans, 
insist on leaving a boiling wet rag on the face of the 
newly shaven, while they prepare the lather and strop 
their razors. Lunch-wagons, too, we note as being par- 
ticularly numerous. Although it is now but the 26th 
of January, the heat is making itself felt and before 
long we have doffed our winter clothing, which we had 
donned on quitting the desert, and wear instead the 
thinnest suits that we can obtain. 

THE LAND OF ORANGES 

Once aboard the little " spur-railway ^' train, we are 
in the land of oranges. The great groves stretch off on 
every hand, the golden fruit peeping out from beneath 
the glossy leaves. The trees are laden with blossoms, 
green fruit and ripe fruit — all at the same time. Irri- 
gation canals extend along the groves, and run back in 
among them, increasing the general beauty of the 
prospect. In fact, what with the deep leaf shadows 
and the juicy pendant balls ready for plucking from the 
cars, we would be glad to continue this ride indefinitely. 
The speed, however, here is something terrific, and 
before we would suspect, we are at the world-famous 
Riverside 

riverside, THE BEAUTIFUL 

From our first peep at Riverside, we shall be charmed 
with the place. Along the main thoroughfare, are 
handsome, though small, shops where articles to attract 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



111 



tourists are sold and here great palms have been set at 
the curb, and often at the inner edge of the sidewalk 
also. The hotels are in the mission style, and many of 
them have tempting shops on their lower floors, among 
which we can loiter. We shall want to buy for fifteen 
cents, a tiny crate of imitation oranges ready to mail 




ORANGE PICKERS CALIFORNIA 



home to our friends. If we are thirsty, lemons, too, 
newly picked, at a dime a dozen, will tempt us. Every- 
where notices in regard to lemons and oranges are 
tacked about, for here is the headquarters of the famous 
Citrus Union, regulating the sale of these fruits almost 
all over the world. Real estate agents, too, know the 
value of the orange, and frequently place an orange twig 



112 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



in their windows as a sign that they have orange groves 
for sale. 

We hnger a moment before a shoe store in which a 
graphophone is kept playing all day to attract cus- 
tomers; and then board one of the electric cars. The 




ENTRANCE TO ESTATE, RIVERSIDE 



rear and front of this car are open, the center closed, 
and it is thus adapted to any kind of weather. A bevy 
of school children, hatless, and the girls in dainty white 
frocks, are aboard, just out from school, and they make 
the ride merry with their pranks. 

Everywhere the palms and other foliage are so dense 
that one can scarce see the magnificent villas that lie 
behind. Many of these estates are fringed with rows 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 113 

of the graceful, lacy pepper-trees, which add so much 
to the beauty of a California landscape. Others 
stand in a square of open lawn inclosed on three 
sides by groves of orange trees. Where these dense, 
shaded groves have the irrigation canals at their 
borders, and, perhaps, a pepper tree or two at inter- 
vals, we are reminded of the villas of the Dutch 
aristocracy. 

By and by we turn into the famous Riverside Boule- 
vard. Trees and oranges alone seem everywhere, and 
in looking down the side avenues, it would seem that 
we were simply glancing into arbors that lead to the 
bleak, bare, and yet beautiful mountains in the dim 
distance. Down the center of this road, MagnoHa Ave- 
nue, there extends a long avenue of the pepper trees, 
each tree set far apart from the rest, in a broad stretch 
of sod. In this same grass plot, too, telegraph and 
electric light poles stand. On the right and left of the 
grass runs the road, bordered by fan-palms or mag- 
nohas. In their shadow is the walk, and still beyond 
is a row of arbor vitse, behind which are the homes, 
the churches, and the inevitable orange groves. Here 
and there, of course, there are variations. At one place 
the century plant and the fan palm alternate, one with 
the other, beside the road. At another' there is a 
magnificent avenue of palms, leading up to the house, 
and down this avenue a company of ladies ride, 
astraddle, as is the fashion in Cahfornia. 

At the end of the line there is a small ostrich farm, 
which we will omit, as we shall visit the larger one at 
Pasadena. There is also a deer lodge with a famous 
herd of black-tailed Oregon deer. Just across from 



114 



A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 



these the Sherman Indian School, the property of the 
Government, is located. 

A HANDSOME INDIAN SCHOOL 

A LITTLE twelve-year-old Mission Indian boy, named 
Robert, will be our guide through this institution. 
Robert takes us first through the largest building, 
known at the ^ ' Tepee, ^^ and then through the remaining 





.^ If 




\ *!iK 


^::fiK''^' 




H . \m 


^■% 


m 


n 





SHERMAN INDIAN SCHOOL 

structures. In all of these we will find Indian boys 
and girls, representatives of not less than thirty-two 
tribes, brought in from Arizona, New Mexico, Cali- 
fornia and as far north as the State of Washington. 
At the Indian School the children study during one- 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 115 

half of the day, and are instructed in manual training 
during the other — the boys learning to be farmers, the 
girls to do housework, sewing, and other feminine work. 

In addition, characteristic Indian souvenirs, bead- 
work and the like are made to be sold to tourists. 

As we leave the school we hear the bugles call, and 
hundreds of children file out — there are about five 
hundred pupils in all — for the nightly ceremony of 
saluting the colors. 

We have still a little time before evening sets in, and 
so drop into a neighboring park for a rest. Here we 
find two old horse cars put to unique uses — one has 
been made into a deer-house, the other into a roomy 
pigeon-cote. 

RAISING THE GRANGES 

Before leaving Riverside, we shall want to visit the 
famous orange groves, to learn something about orange 
culture. 

The orange trees, we are told, are set out about 
twenty feet apart in ever}^ direction. If raised from 
the seed, the trees are ^' budded'^ the second year. 
This budding is a peculiar process which produces the 
now famous ^^ navel or seedless orange.^' Right under 
the top of the leaf -stem on the orange trees, there is a 
little growth or bud, which would become a small 
branch if let alone. Instead, however, the orange 
raisers cut a slit of sufficient size in the main shoot, 
loosen the bark, and then slip this bud therein, tie it 
with wax cord, and leave it to grow. 

When once this has partly grown out from the main 
shoot, that main stalk, part of which is above it, is cut 



116 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

off, and the little slit and bud becomes the main tree. 
In about three or four years the tree begins to bear 
fruit, and at the age of fifteen or eighteen years is at 
its maturity. 

Seedling oranges mature at later periods, so that 
when the navels are out of the market these come in. 
Consequently many growers here have trees of both 
sorts. 

A good orange tree at Riverside will yield from three 
to ten boxes a year, which will sell at anywhere from 
seventy-five cents to two dollars a box, according to 
the time of year and grade of fruit. 

Aside from irrigation and cultivating the ground 
among the trees — ^which latter is often effected by 
planting peas among them, so as to loosen the soil and 
create a humus — orange culture does not require a 
vast amount of labor and hence is indulged in by many 
well-to-do persons, who might not care for other more 
laborious forms of horticulture or farming. 

If we drive out among the groves we will see, here 
and there, boys picking oranges. For this work they 
wear a canvas bag about a foot and a half long, held to 
the belt by a wire at each side. When the bag is full, 
the boy simply opens a clamp, and the oranges 
dump themselves into boxes, holding perhaps eighty 
oranges apiece. The gathering is very simple; they 
do not break them from the trees, but snip each orange 
from the stem with a nipper, and then snip the stem to 
the very end. Otherwise, if a short stem is allowed to 
remain on the orange in the box, it may prick some 
other orange and spoil it. 

From the pickers the oranges are taken by wagon to 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 117 

the packing-house where the fruit is rolled into long 
chutes, similar to those in a long bowling alley. In the 
bottom of these chutes are holes of various sizes. 
Through the smallest of these fall, first, naturally, the 
smaller oranges, as they roll past ; then the next size into 
the next, and so on — thus separating themselves into 
the bins beneath. All that remains to be done is for 
girls to wrap the finer qualities about with tissue paper, 
and to box them for railway shipment. 

THE FIRST NAVEL ORANGE 

Returning to the heart of Riverside, in the grounds 
of one of the hotels we will see the parent tree of this 
vast navel orange industry. This tree, and another, 
were brought by the government from Bahia (Bah-he-a) 
Brazil, in 1874, and from them, by the process of budding 
all the navel oranges of Cahfornia have sprung. No 
tree, in fact, since the famous miracle-tree of ^'Y}gg- 
drasil," in the Scandinavian myth, has ever yielded 
as prolifically. 

A unique hotel yard 

In this same hotel yard, there will be other things 
to attract our attention. A bit of wall, built as w^ere 
the walls of the old Spanish ^lissions, and containing a 
series of heavy bells that chime the hours for meals; 
and a deep old well with a boulder ^'well-top.'' Queer 
flower-pots of cement, on the roof, and a weather-vane 
in the form of a quaint httle monk, are among the most 
valuable of these. The lobby, too, will delight us, for 
in addition to being equipped with the heavy mission 
furniture, there is a shelf running along the wall, at 



118 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

about half its height, on which all manner of Indian 
pottery is exhibited. If we take our lunch in this hotel, 
we will find quite a difference from the big hotels of the 
east, which difference we shall observe throughout Cali- 
fornia, and that is that they have waitresses only. Here 
at Riverside, too, orangeade is served instead of water, 
at meals. 

THE FAMOUS SMILEY HEIGHTS 

Returning to Colton, we proceed on to Redlands 
that we may visit the famous Smiley (Smile'-ee) 
Heights. The distance is not great — ^we have hardly 
noted the fertile valley, with its pepper trees and its 
orange groves, lying between the barren, snow-covered 
mountains, before Redlands is reached. 

Arrived here, we engage a carriage for a drive about 
the city. The place itself reminds us a good deal of 
Manchester-by-the-Sea or Magnolia, visited on our other 
Little Journey — it is a small town that is supported 
by the rich estates lying all about it. Everywhere 
there are neat little homes ; palms are set between the 
street and the sunny walk, some low, others very tall ; 
these add greatly to the general beauty. What strikes 
us as odd, in connection with the cottages, is that the 
gardens are devoid of sod, but are densely planted with 
orange and pepper trees. 

Our driver speaks enthusiastically of this region. 
Not less than seven hundred thousand boxes of oranges, 
he tells us, and about thirty-five thousand boxes of 
lemons are the yearly output from Redlands. 

Then, having pointed out to us Mt. San Bernardino 
(Bur-nar-dee'-no), rising up 11,800 feet, he proceeds to 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



119 



tell us of Smiley Heights, toward which we are climbing 
—the park being at an elevation of about sixteen 
hundred feet above the level of the sea. The Smileys, 
it seems, are two brothers who have their homes in this 
vast estate, which they have beautified and then very 
kindly opened to the public for a park. Ever^^here 




MIRROR LAKE, SMILEY HEIGHTS 



there is the densest shrubbery for background; the 
most beautiful flowers, laurels, roses, and violets, for 
foreground. Between these, little rustic summer 
houses are set, where one may rest and catch bird's- 
eye views between the foliage, of the groves in the 
distant valley. Denser and denser does the wild wood 
become, as one ascends. Then, as suddenly, we come 



120 A LITTLE JOURNEY THROUGH 

out on Mirror Lake, a pretty little pool, bordered with 
plants and flowers, in which is mirrored with great 
clearness, whatever may be at its edge. 

Descending from the Heights, after perhaps an hour 
among its sylvan lanes, we shall want to see more of the 
magnificent homes of Redlands. That of Mr. Burrage, 
of Standard Oil fame, will particularly attract us, while 
Highland Avenue, with its palms on either side and its 
palatial homes beyond, again somewhat recalls Mag- 
nolia. We learn that the owners of some of these 
places, wearying of their monotony, often rent them 
for three months at a time, at a set rental of six hundred 
dollars a month. 

We make our drive include Prospect Park, another 
private park open to visitors, and noted for its jasmin 
and roses, which bloom here in April and in May. 
Then we return to the heart of the city. 

ON TO SAN BERNARDINO 

Everyone who has visited Redlands and Riverside 
takes in San Bernardino, and so, therefore, do we. We 
board an electric car, so labeled, and are carried 
country-ward. Aside, however, from curious pipes, 
standing erect from the soil, at intervals, for irrigation 
purposes, and an apiary, there is little to interest us on 
the ride. In fact, the scenery is not at all unlike that 
of southern Ohio. 

San Bernardino, of which we have heard so much, 
too, is apt to be a disappointment, coming after such 
places as we have just been visiting. There are several 
squares of thriving stores, a fine stone court-house, and, 
on the outskirts, innumerable pretty homes amid palms 



THE GREAT T OUTHWEST 121 

and pepper trees. In short, it is a miniature Redlands, 
smaller, and not quite so wealthy. We can take supper 
out here, concluding our meal with grapefruit, at three 
for a nickel, and then return by electric cars to Colton. 

TO LOS ANGELES 

Very early next morning we leave once more by 
railway for Los Angeles, the terminus of what is so 
often called ''tourist California." Great fields of 
canaigre (kan'-ager), a plant resembUng beet tops or 
dock, and extensively employed in tanning, makes 
interesting a rather barren region, after we have passed 
Bloomington. Then with the barren mountains ever 
for our background, we enter a famous farming country, 
centering around Ontario, and threaded with lanes lined 
by the pepper trees. On the north the San Gabriel 
Mountains now loom, while in the foreground stretch 
orange groves and vineyards, some of them three 
thousand acres in extent. Cars of the Citrus Union 
rattle past until, by the time we have reached Pomona 
(Po-mo'-nah), the sight of the fig and walnut and 
almond orchards is a welcome relief, after the monotony 
of those endless orange and lemon plantations. 

We cross a long bridge over a dry river bed, only to 
see once again, the results of irrigation, for this bed was 
once the San Gabriel River, now dry and waterless. 
Then, when we stop at Lordsburg, some women enter 
the car, each in low, black bonnets, covered with jet, 
and accompanied by their husbands, all of whom w^ear 
soft, dark hats. These are the Dunkers, who have 
colonized hereabouts, and, like the Mormons in Utah, 
caused the land to blossom. 



122 



A LITTLE JOURXEY THROUGH 



If we were in season for a foot-washing service, we 
should certainly stop off at Lordsburg to visit the 
Dunkers (Dun^-kers). This ceremony occurs once a 
year, and as those of us who may have witnessed it on 
our Little Journey through the Alleghanies may 
recall, is preceded by a Lord^s Supper. The entire 




STREET IN LOS ANGELES 



congregation attend this meal, which is served at one 
long table in the meeting house. During the supper 
— a substantial one — the elder or minister reads aloud 
to his flock. Then tubs are brought in, men and 
women bare their legs, and each washes the feet of his 
or her neighbor and dries them, in imitation of Christ^s 
performing this service for the Apostles. 



THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 123 

There are other interesting rites observed by the 
Dunkers. The women, for example, do not wear hats, 
onl}' the bonnets described. Buttons, too, are ta- 
booed, only hooks and eyes being in use. 

Meantime, however, we are passing a point of interest 
we cannot afford to overlook, the famous San Gabriel 
Mission. This mission, appearing yellow and ancient 
among the trees, is one of the few still in actual use. 
We have just become interested in its history, which 
dates to the year 1771, when the porter calls ''Los 
Angeles," and the first great half of our Journey is done. 



A Little Extra Reading Matter 



Little Journeys 

Splendid Supplementary Reading tor every School. Interesting, reli- 
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Twenty-eight books. Each tells of the habits, customs, dress, condi- 
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music; many of them have directions for holding an entertainment en the 
country visited or studied, etc. The reading matter is interesting and en- 
joyed by pupils and parents, as well as teachers. 

The folloAving countries have been visited: 



Cuba 

Porto Rico 

Hawaii 

Philippines 

China 

Japan 

Mexico 

Alaska 

Canada 

Australia 

Ireland 

Russia 

Austria 

Greece 



London and Liverpool 

England 

Scotland 

Italy 

France 

Holland 

Belgium and Denmark 

Switzerland 

Spain and Portugal 

North Germany 

South Germany 

Norway 

Sweden 

Turkey and the Balkans 



These muy also be had in cloth editions. Two countries in one, 50 
cents each. 



A. FLANAGAN CO., CHICAGO 



Marian M. George's Books 



and 



Publications for Teachers 



Primary Plan Books, 10 numbers, September to June, each 25 cents. 

The Intermediate Plan Books, 10 numbers, September to June, each 
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Character Building, now being issued, 10 numbers, September to June, 
each 25 cents. 

Little Journeys, a Library of Travel for young people to supplement 
geography work, 14 numbers in cloth, 50 cents each. 

Songs in Season, cloth, 75 cents. Paper 50 cents. 

Stories in Season, paper, 30 cents. 

How to Sleep, a book of suggestions for the overworked teacher, 
50 cents. 

Christmas in Other Lands, Christmas Entertainments, Language, 
Literature, Music, etc., 25 cents. 

Washington and Lincoln, plans for celebrating these days and for 
language and literary work, price 25 cents. 

Suggestions for Seat work, manual of 64 pages, suggestions enough _ 
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How Little Cedric Became a Knight, arranged for u^e of teachers, 
15 cents. Pupil's edition, the story only, 5 cents. 

Citizenship Report Cards, same size as the ordinary monthly report 
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Commendation Cards, to be presented to the pupil for improvement, 
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my 24 J94?7 



